WOODCRAFT; 


OR, 


HAWKS  ABOUT  THE  DOVECOTE. 


A  Story  of  the  South  at  tlje  Close  of  the  Revolution, 


BY  W.  GILMORE  SIMMS, 


AUTHOR  or  "THE  PARTISAN,"  "MELLICHAMPE,"  "KATHARINE 

"  THE  SCOUT,'1  "  THE  YEMASSEE,"  "  GUY    RIVERS,"  ETC. 


DONOHUE,  HENNEBERRY  &  CO- 

407-425  DEARBORN  STREET 
1890 


DONOHUE  &  HENNEBERRY, 

PRINTERS  AND  BINDERS, 
CHICAGO. 


PS  2 


WOODCRAFT. 


CHAPTER   I. 

A    BRAVE    WIDOW. 

THE  provisional  articles  of  peace,  between  the  King  of  Great 
Britain,  and  the  revolted  colonies  of  America,  were  signed  at 
Paris,  on  the  13th  November,  1782.  The  British  forces  in 
Charleston,  South  Carolina,  prepared  to  abandon  that  city  early 
in  the  following  December.  The  event  took  place  on  the  14th 
of  th.it  month.  Prior  to  this,  period,  the  enemy  had  been  con 
fined  to  the  immediate  precincts  of  the  garrison.  The  gradually 
contracting  arms  of  the  Americans  had  established  a  cordon  about 
them,  which  they  had  found  it  impossible  to  break  ;  and  the  rival 
armies,  the  one  unable  to  take  the  field,  and  the  other  too  feeble 
to  force  the  garrison,  lay  watching  each  other,  like  a  couple  of 
grim  tigers,  who  have  learned,  by  frequent  combats,  to  regard 
their  opponents  with  respect,  if  not  affection.  Both  were  ex 
hausted.  Exhaustion,  not  wisdom,  or  a  better  state  of  feeling, 
was  the  secret  of  the  peace  which  was  finally  concluded  between 
the  two  nations,  and  of  which,  South  Carolina,  and  Charleston 
in  particular,  was  eagerly  expecting  the  benefits.  For  more 
than  two  years  this  region  was  in  full,  or  in  partial  keeping,  of 
the  enemy.  The  days  had  been  counted  by  skirmishes  and  bat 
tles,  by  fears,  hates,  anxieties,  persecution,  and  blood.  The  time 
for  repose  was  at  hand.  Peace  was  agreed  upon  ;  the  British 
army  was  about  to  evacuate  the  city  ;  the  Americans  were  crowd 
ing  about  their  outposts,  eager  to  come  in.  Meanwhile  conimis- 


6  WOODCRAFT. 

sioners  from  botli  were  in  the  city,  preparing  for  a  peaceable 
restoration  of  prisoners,  chattels,  and  soil.  There  was  much  to 
be  re-delivered,  which  irked  the  stomach  of  the  British  captor, 
and  his  allies  among  the  loyalists.  The  latter  had  many  fears 
of  meeting  with  their  ancient  brethren.  Both  the  British  and 
themselves  had  much  plunder  which  it  was  becoming  difficult  to 
make  away  with.  The  American  commissioners  were  particu 
larly  solicitous  in  respect  to  this  matter.  South  Carolina  had 
already  lost  twenty-five  thousand  slaves,  which  British  philan 
thropy  had  transferred  from  the  rice-fields  of  Carolina,  to  the 
sugar  estates  of  the  West  India  Islands ;  and  there  were  yet 
other  thousands  waiting  to  be  similarly  transported.  But  how 
o  conceal  them  from  the  lynx  eyes  of  the  commissioners,  who 
were  studiously  attentive  to  the  mode  of  fitting  up  the  transport- 
ships,  and  their  accommodations  provided  for  passengers ;  and 
especially  heedful  that  they  were  not  too  much  crowded  with 
the  black,  for  the  comfort  of  the  white  inhabitants.  Such  vigi 
lance  was  the  subject  of  much  soreness  on  the  part  of  those  who 
exercised  their  charities  for  the  African  race,  without  desiring  to 
give  their  labors  any  unnecessary  publicity.  The  anxieties  <»f 
the  one  party,  and  the  vigilance  of  the  other,  were  duly  increased 
as  the  moment  drew  nigh  for  the  exodus  of  the  British. 

It  was  but  three  days  from  this  event,  when  Colonel  Mon- 
crieff,  of  the  latter — whose  philanthropy  on  behalf  of  the  blacks 
had  been  exercised  on  a  most  extensive  scale — was  surprised  by 
an  unexpected  visitor.  We  may  add,  an  unwelcome  one.  He 
was  sitting  in  his  office,  books  and  paper  around  him,  swords 
upon  the  wall,  pistols  among  papers  upon  the  table,  and  with 
but  one  companion.  This  was  a  person  of  rusty  complexion, 
sharp  visage,  small  bulbous-shaped  nose,  a  low,  broad  forehead, 
and  sinister  expression  of  mouth  and  eyes.  The  latter  were  of 
a  light  grey,  keen  rather  than  bright,  and  significant  of  cunning 
rather  than  character. 

These  two  persons  appeared  to  be  busy  in  long  details,  figured 
out  on  several  sheets  of  paper,  and  a  confused  array  of  arithmet 
ical  propositions.  But  there  seemed  no  difficulty  between  them ; 
the  business,  which  equally  interested  both,  seemed  mutually 
satisfactory.  Over  some  of  the  details  they  chuckled  pleasantly. 
They  were  thus  employed,  when  the  door  was  suddenly  thrown 


open,  and'  a  white  servant,  partly  in  military  nabit,  appeared  at 
t.he  entrance. 

"  Well,  Waldron,"  said  Moncrieff,  scarcely  looking  up,  "  what 
now  ?" 

"  A  lady,  sir." 

"  A  lady  1     Who,  pray  ?     What's  her  name  ? 

"Didn't  tell  me,  sir  —  is  here  —  the  lady  says  she  must  see 
you." 

"  Well,  if  a  lady  says  she  must  see  me,  the  necessity  is  hardly 
to  be  escaped,  I  suppose.  Show  her.  in." 

The  servant  stepped  back,  and  the  lady  entered — a  fair  and 
comely  dame,  scarcely  forty,  with  a  fresh,  healthy  expression,  a 
bright,  cherry  blue  eye,  a  SAveet,  intelligent  mouth,  as  indicative 
of  character  as  of  beauty,  and  a  frank,  buoyant  expression  of 
countenance.  Her  figure  was  tall,  yet  somewhat  inclined  to 
fmltonjwint,  though  her  carriage  was  equally  dignified  and  grace 
ful.  The  gentlemen  rose  promptly  at  her  entrance.  Moncrieff 
advanced  politely  and  handed  her  a  chair,  which  she  took  with 
a  quiet  ease  and  promptness  that  showed  her  to  be  accustomed 
to  society. 

Moncrieff  was  evidently  and  immediately  impressed  by  her 
presence.  It  was  quite  apparent,  however,  that  she  was  entirely 
unknown  to  him.  Not  so  with  his  companion,  whose  visage  put 
on  a  look  of  blank  dissatisfaction  at  the  moment  of  her  entrance, 
which  at  once  dispersed  the  smiles  that  had  mantled  it  only  a 
moment  before.  But  neither  of  the  other  persons  in  the  room 
seemed  to  notice  his  disquiet.  He  drew  apart,  and  went  toward 
one  of  the  windows,  but  kept  his  eye  upon  the  two,  with  an 
oblique  glance  eminently  his  own ;  and  his  ears  were  keenly 
alive  to  what  was  spoken. 

"May  I  have  the  honor,  madam,  of  serving  you?"  was  the 
question  of  Moncrieff,  with  all  the  courtesy  proper  to  an  officer 
in  his  Britannic  majesty's  service.  The  answer  was  prompt.  In 
a  clear,  frank,  musical  voice,  the  lady  said — 

"  I  bring  you,  sir,  a  billet  from  his  excellency,  General  Les 
lie,  which  will  fully  explain  my  business.  My  name  is  Eveleigh, 
the  widow  of  the  late  Major  Eveleigh,  who  once  held  the  office 
in  your  army  that  you  now  hold." 

"  I  remember,  madam ;    I  h.ad  not  the  pleasure  of  knowing 


8  WOODCRAFT. 

Majir  JiiVelcigh  personally,  but  liis  rank  and  character are  fully 
known  to  me." 

"  Here,  sir,  is  General  Leslie's  letter." 

She  took  it  from  her  bag,  and  handed  it  as  she  spoke.  The 
1  row  of  Colonel  Moncrieff  clouded  as  he  read. 

"  You  will  perceive  sir,"  said  the  lady,  "  that  his  excellency, 
(li'iieral  Leslie,  requests  you  to  see  that  certain  negroes  be  re 
stored  to  me,  my  property,  which  are  now  within  the  garrison — 
their  names  are  in  this  paper,  and  a  description  of  them  individ 
ually,  by  which  they  may  each  be  identified." 

Moncrieff  read  the  second  paper  with  increasing  gravity  of  as 
pect.  His  male  companion  crossed  the  floor  to  him,  and  looked 
over  the  paper  as  he  read.  The  widow  Eveleigh  observed  the 
movement  —  and  the  man  —  with  some  interest.  After"  a  few 
moments,  Moncrieff,  with  something  of  annoyance  in  his  tone, 
remarked — 

"  Why,  madam,  it  is  very  doubtful  if  there  be  any  such  slaves' 
within  the  garrison.     You  are  aware  that  we  have  been  deliver 
ing  them  up,  as  fast  as  they  can  be  found,  to  the  American  com 
missioners.     They  may  be  concealed — " 

"  They  are  concealed,"  answered  the  lady. 

"  If  that  be  the  case,  Mrs.  Eveleigh,"  answered  the  other,  with 
a  soothing  smile,  "  we  must  try  and  find  them  for  you.  We 
shall  institute  a  thorough  search,  and  should  they  be  found,  they 
shall  be  delivered  to  the  commissioners." 

"  I  thank  you,  sir ;  but  something  of  this  trouble  may  be 
spared  you  ;  and  I  should  prefer — as  the  ownership  of  the  prop 
erty  is  unquestionably  in  me,  as  I  have  satisfied  General  Leslie 
—  that  they  be  delivered  to  myself." 

"  That,  too,  my  dear  madam,  I  cheerfully  promise,  should  we 
find  them." 

"  It  is  the  trouble  of  this  search,  sir,  that  I  would  spare  you. 
I  have  already  found  them." 

"  The  devil  you  have,  madam  ?"  cried  Moncrieff,  starting  to 
his  feet,  and  evidently  disquieted — "and  where,  pray?" 

"  In  the  old  hulk,  sir,  at  Market  dock,  in  company  with  some  two 
hundred  others,  upon  whom  I  have  no  claim,  but  who,  I  have  no 
doubt,  will  find  claimants  fast  enough  if  they  be  once  exposed  on 
the  wharf  to  tlie  examination  of  the  American  commissioners." 


A    BRAVE   WIDOW.  9 

"  'Pon  my  soul,  madam,  for  a  whig- American,  you  calculate 
largely  upon  the  generosity  of  liis  majesty's  government." 

"  Very  far  from  it,  Colonel  MoncriefF.  I  calculate  nothing  at 
all  upon  the  generosity  of  his  majesty's  government.  My  cal 
dilations  arc  all  based  upon  what  seems  the  necessity  of  the 
case,  and  the  policy,  which  his  majesty's  officers  seem  generally 
to  recognise,  of  performing  the  condition  of  the  treaty  in  good 
laith.  You  speak  of  me,  sir,  as  an  American  and  a  whig.  I 
am  not  ashamed  to  say  that  I  am  botli ;  but  remembering  that 
my  late  husband  was  a  good  loyalist,  and  a  faithful  and  trusted 
officer  in  his  majesty's  service,  I  have  forborne,  Avith  a  due 
regard  to  his  memory,  from  taking  any  active  part  in  this  contest. 
On  this  subject,  however,  General  Leslie  has  been  long  quite 
satisfied.  I  feel  proud  that  I  may  number  him  among  my 
friends.  You  have  read  his  letter — it  appears  to  me  that  noth 
ing  more  is  necessary  to  be  said." 

"  Well,  madam,  allowing  all  this,  it  appears  to  me  that  what 
is  expected  of  us,  is  the  delivery,  to  the  rebel  commissioners,  of 
all  the  negroes  claimed  as  fugitives — " 

"  Let  me  interrupt  you,  Colonel  MoncriefF.  The  commission 
ers  are  employed  only  to  represent  the  absent.  I  am  here  pres 
ent.  I  can  identify  my  negroes  —  I  have  done  so  —  and  now  I 
demand  of  you  their  redelivery." 

"  But,  why  of  me,  madam  ?" 

"  For  the  best  of  reasons,  sir.  They  are  entered  in  the  hulk- 
book  in  your  name." 

"  The  devil  they  are,  madam  !" 

"I  forgive  your  irreverence/Colonel  MoncriefF,  to  myself; 
but  regret  that  your  tone  should  be  so  disrespectful  to  his  Sata 
nic  majesty." 

MoncriefF  could  not  forbear  a  laugh. 

"  Begad,  madam,  you  have  me  !  By  what  names  d*  you  dis 
tinguish  these  negro  subjects  of  yours  ?" 

"  Here  is  the  list; — they  have  been  identified  by  my  over 
seer  as  well  as  myself." 

"  But,  madam,  I  am  somewhat  curious  —  pray  how  did  you— 
yet,  no  matter !  You  say,  Mrs.  Eveleigh,  that  you  have,  your 
self,  seen  these  negroes  at  the  hulk  ?" 

"  J  have,  sir   ai?d  spoken  with  them." 

1* 


10  WOODCRAFT. 

"  Then  there  can  be  no  doubt !  But — "  Here  lie  paused, 
looked  hurriedly  over  a  pile  of  memoranda  before  him,  bit  the 
tip  of  his  goose  quill,  and  seemed,  for  a  few  moments,  to  medi 
tate  ;  then  turning  to  his  former  companion,  he  said — 

"  M'Kewn,  I  must  confer  with  you.  Will  Mrs.  Eveleigh  ex 
cuse  me  for  a  few  moments  ?" 

The  lady  bowed  her  head,  and  the  two  gentlemen  left  the 
apartment.  The  brave  widow  was  left  alone. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE    WIDOW    MAKES   SOME    DISCOVERIES. 

"M'KEWN  !"  said  the  lady  in  an  under  tone.  She  appeared 
to  muse  for  awhile.  Then,  looking  up,  her  eyes  seemed  to  be 
come  interested  in  the  furniture  of  the  apartment,  which,  as  it 
was  that  of  a  military  bachelor,  was  somewhat  curious  and  con 
tradictory  in  its  character.  The  floor  of  the  room  was  cumbered 
with  chests,  trunks  and  boxes.  The  walls  were  hung  with 
pistols  and  sabres.  Interspersed  among  these,  were  sundry 
articles  of  unmentionable  clothing,  to  say  nothing  of  military, 
parade,  service  and  undress  coats; — MoncriefF  was  something 
of  a  carpet-knight.  —  Great  boots  lay  sprawling  beneath  the 
table.  An  elegant  chapeau  Iras  rested  ffpon  it ;  and,  in  near 
neighborhood,  protruding  from  beneath  a  pile  of  papers,  was  a 
pair  of  pistols  of  extraordinary  beauty  and  finish. 

The  widow  possessed  some  rather  curious  tastes  for  a  lady. 
She  rose,  took  up  the  pistols,  and  examined  them  without  any 
of  that  shuddering  feeling  which  most  ladies  would  exhibit  at 
the  contemplation  of  such  implements.  They  might  well  at 
tract  the  attention  of  a  person  not  an  amateur.  The  weapons 
of  that  day  were  of  much  more  curious  and  costly  workmanship 
than  ours.  There  was  an  antique  richness  in  the  ornaments  of 
the  pistols  which  was  calculated  to  gratify  the  eye.  The  stocks 
were  quaintly  inlaid  with  fleurs  dc  Us  and  vines,  done  in  filagree 
of  variegated  gold.  The  butts  were  capped  with  gold,  in  the 


THE   WIDOW    MAKES   SOME   DISCOVERIES.  11 

centre  of  which  was  an  elaborately-wrought  eye,  with  a  small 
amethyst  forming  the  pupil.  The  barrels  were  plain,  but  ex 
quisitely  polished.  They  were  of  rifle-bore  —  the  duelling  pis 
tol  in  fact  —  a  weapon  more  in  use  then  than  now,  and  in  t!ie 
workmanship  of  which  much  more  care  and  ornament  were 
expended. 

The  inspection  of  these  beautiful  tools  of  murder  seemed  to 
afford  considerable  interest  to  our  widow.  She  finally  laid  them 
down  in  their  places.  As  she  did  so,  her  eye  was  arrested  by 
a  paper  which  lay  open  beside  the  weapons.  Her  own  name 
caught  her  glance.  She  uttered  a  slight  ejaculation  of  surprise, 
and  caught  up  the  paper,  which  was  one  of  those  enormous 
sheets  of  dingy  foolscap  which  were  in  common  use  at  that 
period.  Her  interest  increased  as  she  examined  the  writing, 
and  she  felt  justified  in  reading  it.  It  afforded  her  some  curious 
intelligence  in  regard  to  the  very  business  in  which  she  was 
engaged  ;  containing,  in  fact,  a  long  catalogue  of  names,  evi 
dently  those  of  slaves  —  Sam,  Tom,  Peter,  Dick,  Pomp,  Ciuljoe, 
Dembo,  Gush,  Binah,  Bess,  Bathsheba,  and  a  hundred  more  — 
and  all  parcelled  off  in  sections,  embraced  in  brackets,  opposite 
to  each  of  which  were  the  names,  also,  of  their  respective 
owners.  To  some,  the  names  of  places,  or  estates,  were  ap 
pended.  There  she  beheld  her  own  name  in  connection  with 
the  slaves  she  claimed.  There  was  something  further.  A 
memorandum,  against  each  column,  contained  a  reference  to  the 
source  from  which  they  had  been  obtained.  She  read  the  name 
of  "  M'Kewn"  as  that  of  the  person  who  had  put  her  negroes  in 
possession  of  Moncrieff.  There  was  Moncrieff's  acknowledg 
ment  and  signature.  There  were  M'Kewn's  memoranda  with 
Ms  own  handwriting,  as  she  supposed,  and  rightly ;  and  other 
matters,  all  in  detail,  which  she  saw,  in  a  moment,  comprised 
a  large  body  of'  conclusive  testimony  that  might  be  very 
useful. 

This,  then,  was  the  document  which  the  British  colonel  and 
his  companion  had  been  studying  when  she  came  in.  She  laid 
the  paper  down  in  its  place.  But  her  lips  became  rigid  with 
resolution.  She  hastily  seized  the  paper  and  folded  it. 

"  I  am  dealing,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  with  enemies.  This 
document  may  become  necessary  yet  to  secure  my  property. 


12  WOODCRAFT. 

The  villains  !  Shall  I  scruple  when  I  am  in  such  hands  ?  Shall 
I  suffer  them  to  defraud  my  son  of  his  rights,  when  it  is  in  my 
power  to  prevent  them  ]  Away  with  such  childish  scruples.  It 
is  war  between  us,  perhaps,  and  I  owe  them  no  courtesies,  no 
forbearance." 

She  put  the  paper  into  her  pocket. 

"  M'Kewn  !  M'Kewn  !"  she  muttered.  "  Where  have  I  heard 
that  name  before  1 

She  heard  footsteps  approaching  from  without,  and  hastily 
resumed  her  seat  and  her  composure.  Her  face  on  the  instant 
became  one  of  singular  calm  and  simplicity.  She  was  a  woman 
evidently  of  equal  good  sense  and  nerve,  and  seemed  totally 
unconcerned  and  unemployed,  as  the  outer  door  was  thrown 
open.  The  orderly,  Waldron,  again  made  his  appearance,  fol 
lowed  by  another  person.  He  looked  about  the  room  for  his 
superior. 

"  He  is  not  here  —  the  colonel?"  he  remarked  inquiringly. 

"  He  is  within,"  answered  the  widow,  pointing  to  the  chamber 
to  which  Moncrief  and  M'Kcwn  had  retired.  As  she  spoke,  she 
observed  that  the  person  who  followed  Waldron,  started,  and 
seemed  disposed  to  retire.  Her  eye  quickened  with  intelli 
gence,  but  she  ceased  to  look  at  the  new  party.  A  single 
glance  had  sufficed.  Waldron  advanced,  calling  to  his  compan 
ion  to  follow. 

"  Come  this  way,"  said  the  orderly.  The  person  addressed, 
hesitated  for  a  moment,  then,  rapidly  moving  to  the  side  of 
Waldron,  put  him  between  himself  and  ^;he  widow.  They 
crossed  the  room  together,  and,  without  reserve,  entered  the  in 
ner  apartment,  the  door  of  which  they  closed  behind  them. 
Mrs.  Eveleigh  followed  them  with  a  careless  but  intelligent 
glance.  When  they  had  passed  from  sight,  she  muttered  — 

"  I  see  it  now  !  Bostwick  has  been  the  creature  of  M'Kewn 
in  this  business,  as  M'Kewn  is  the  creature  of  Moncrieff.  The 
ungrateful  wretch;  and  I  have  fed  his  family  for  years;  his 
wife  and  child  —  when  they  were  sick  and  starving.  Oh  !  what 
a  frightful,  fiendish  thing  is  poverty,  when  it  is  linked  with  in 
gratitude  !" 

The  widow  had  discovered,  in  the  new-comer,  the  squatter  on 
a  plantation  which  adjoined  her  own.  The  single  glance  which 


«he  had  given  him,  had  suiikvd  to  identify  him;  and  J:v  \\.-is 
too  circumspect  to  allow  liiin  to  pen-eivo  that  she  had  made  rlia 
discovery.  She  was  satisfied  to  look  no  further.  Jiis  slight 
form,  sidelong  gait,  low,  swarthy  features,  -aid  long  black  hail, 
which  hung  down  heavily  upon  his  cheeks  and  shoulders,  were 
not  to  be  mistaken.  She  smiled  sadly  as  she  mused  upon  the 
ingratitude,  which  had  been  fed  at  her  hands  without  thanks, 
and  which  had  robbed  her  of  her  property  without  remorse. 
Let  us  leave  her  for  a  while,  and  become  parties  in  the  confer 
ence  between  Moncrieff  and  M'Kewn. 


CHAPTER    III 

1OGUES    IN    CONFERENCE. 

"  Tins  is  a  d d  awkward  business,  M'Kewn  !" 

"What's  to  lie  done  ?"  said  the  person  addressed,  in  ra.her 
sullen  acceiits. 

"Ay,  what'.'  That's  the  question,"  answered  Moncrieff;  "  I 
s<»f.  no  way  to  escape  it,  my  good  fellow.  It  robs  us  of  some  of 
our  profits." 

"]>ut  will  you  give  up  the  negroes?" 

"  Kh  !  to  he  sure!  What  else?  Show  me  how  it  may  be 
rranairi'd,  saving  me  scot-free  with  old  Leslie,  who,  though  three 
parts  old  woman,  is  yet  a  Tartar  when  you  cross  him — and  I'm 
lor  n\\\  remedy.  But  it  seems  to  me  impossible." 

"-Can't  tf'  p'et  off  the  negroes,  w  bile  you  keep  her  in  plav  ?" 

"  Scarcely  !  She  has  identified  them,  and  found  them  on- 
t"red  iu  my  name.  How  the  devil  she  has  done  this,  ]  can't 
sec.  Vi  hat  could  that  Hessian,  Dort.  have  been  about." 

"lie,  was  drunk,  I  reckon!  lie  was  the  last  man  to  l,,iv« 
he.en  fi!:^ted  with  them.  I  feared  it.  Pmt,  it  strikes  me  thai 
v\'e  might  run  the  negroes  without  committing  you." 

"How  RO  ?      Remember,  my  honor  as  a  "British  officer — " 

"  May  !,e  kept  safely,  if  we  can  prove  that  they  broke  'Hit  of 
keeping  and  took  boat  up  the  river." 


L4  WOODCRAFT. 

'  Indeed !  Half  a  dozen  negroes  break  away  from  a  scom 
cf  Hessian  guards — " 

"  All  being  drunk." 

"Unchain  themselves  —  secure  a  boat,  and  make  their  waj 
up  the  rive;  through  a  fleet  of  three  hundred  vessels  of  all  sizes! 
No  !  no  !  M'Kewn  !  That  won't  do  !  Old  Leslie  is  too  shrewd 
a  soldier  to  listen  to  such  a  story.  My  answer  would  be  an 
arrest  and  a  court  of  inquiry.  You  must  think  of  something 
better." 

M'Kewn  remained  sulkily  silent. 

"  You  are  gravelled  !"  said  the  other.  "  So  am  I !  I  do  not 
see  but  that  we  shall  have  to  make  a  merit  of  necessity,  and  the 
sooner  we  do  so,  the  better.  If  we  delay  about  it,  we  shall 
have  a  host  of  other  claimants  ;  and  the  danger  will  be,  not  only 
(hat  they  will  prove  three  hundred  slaves  in  our  keeping,  bul 
t;;at  something  will  corne  out  showing  how  they  came  into  our 
keeping.  You,  for  example,  might  be  required  to  explain  some 
queer  histories.  My  notion  is,  that  we  must  yield  handsomely 
to  the  handsome  widow  —  a  devilish  fine  looking  woman,  by  the 
way,  with  a  head  of  her  own  !  —  and,  by  promptness  in  her  case, 
avoid  the  danger  of  other  visiters.  We  must  discharge  her  chat 
tels,  and  transfer  the  rest  to  the  '  Tartar'  before  day,  to-morrow 
By  the  way,  does  this  woman  know  you  ?" 

"I  think  not.  Her  husband  did.  I  have  seen  her  repeatedly, 
and  have  been  on  her  plantation.  In  fact,  I  am  somewhat  in 
terested  in  an  estate  in  her  neighborhood.  But  this  need  not 
concern  us  now.  It  is  a  matter  of  some  concern  with  me,  as  1 
am  to  remain  in  the  country,  that  she  should  not  know  me  in 
connection  with  this  affair.  I  shall  avoid  showing  myself  when 
you  return  to  her." 

"  You  see  no  means,  then,  of  evading  the  surrender  ?" 

"  None,  but  that  already  hinted." 

"That  is  out  of  the  question,"  said  Moncrieff,  rising.  "I  will 
take  the  physic  without  wry  faces.  But,  as  soon  as  she  goes, 
'.iO  you  see  to  the  transfer  to  the  '  Tartar.' " 

"  It  will  be  well,  too,"  added  M'Kewn,  "  if  you  put  them  un 
der  some  better  keeper  than  that  drunken  Hessian." 

"  It  shall  be  done.     Well !     How  now,  Waldron  ?" 

At  this  moment,  Waldron  entered  the  room,  followed  by  Host 


ROGUES   IN   CONFERENCE.  16 

wick,  the  squatter.  At  his  entrance,  M'Kewn  looked  disquieted, 
Waldron  was  immediately  dismissed. 

"  You  here  ?"  said  M'Kewn  to  Bostwick.  "  Did  you  see  the 
lady?" 

"  The  widow— Eveleigh  ?— Yes  !" 

"  Did  she  see  you  ?" 

"Don't  think!  Jest  as  I  caught  the  shine  of  her  eyes,-! 
dodged  ahind  the  sargeant.  Don't  think  she  made  me  out  at 
all.  Didn't  look  as  ef  she  did." 

"  Do  you  know  what  she  comes  about  ?"  demanded  Moncrieff. 

"  Reckon  I  does,  colonel.  She's  been  to  the  'hulk'  and  seed 
the  niggers  herself." 

"  Remain  here,  both  of  you,  till  she  is  gone.  Take  care  that 
she  sees  no  more  of  either  of  you.  If  she  has  made  you  out, 
Master  Bostwick,  your  best  course  will  be  to  get  into,  his  maj 
esty's  transport,  as  soon  as  you  can,  or  she  will  hang  you  when 
the  rebels  take  possession  here." 

"  She  hain't  seen  me  yit,  I  reckon,"  answered  the  squatter, 
though  a  dubious  expression  darkened  his  swarthy  visage  as 
he  spoke.  MoncriefF,  meanwhile,  proceeded,  rather  reluctantly, 
though  hurriedly,  to  give  his  answer  to  the  widow's  requisition. 
M'Kewn  resumed  the  subject  with  Bostwick. 

"  That  woman  has  eyes  to  see  through  a  stone  wall.  Do  you 
think  she  got  a  glimpse  of  you  at  all  ?" 

"  I  seed  her  first,  I  reckon." 

"  You  are  not  sure  ?" 

"  No !  nobody's  sure  of  nothing,  no-how,  it  seems  to  me,  in 
this  world,"  responded  the  squatter. 

"  Well !  Even  if  she  did  see  you  here,  it  would  only  prove 
to  the  rebels  that  you  were  in  bad  company  as  well  as  myself. 
[  have  my  excuse  —  my  reasons,  for  being  here  —  which,  indeed, 
would  silence  suspicion  ;  and  you  being  seen  with  Moncrieff  and 
myself  would  only  provoke  suspicion,  not  confirm  it.  We  must 
be  cautious,  that's  all." 

"  Well,  now,  look  you,  squire,  there's  no  caution  without 
money,  and  I'm  mightily  needing  the  article.  I  must  have 
some,  i-ight  away." 

"Why,  you  had  five  guineas  last  week,  Bostwick." 

*'  I've  lived  a  week  since,  and  fed  and  drank — " 


16  WOODCRAFT. 

"  Ay,  and  got  drunk  upon  food  and  drink.  Five  guineas 
ought  to  last  you  a  month,  if  you  were  a  sober,  prudent  person." 

"  Look  you,  squire,  I'm  too  bad  a  fellow  to  be  sober  or  pru 
dent  I  ain't  in  love  with  myself,  at  all,  when  I'm  sober;  and, 
as  for  being  what  you  call  prudent,  why,  the  thing's  unreason 
able.  Ef  I'd  been  a  prudent  person,  would  you  have  seen  me 
here  1  Would  I  be  doing  for  you  all  them  dirty  little  trans 
actions  ?" 

"  Pshaw  !  you're  well  enough -as  you  are." 

"  I  reckon'd  you'd  say  so.  You'll  let  me  have  the  five 
guineas,  squire  V1 

"  I  suppose  so — for  this  time  ;  but  the  business  is  nearly  done 
up  now,  Bostwick.  I  do  not  see  that  we  can  be  of  much  further 
use  to  one  another :  and  all  that's  to  be  done,  is  to  close  up  the 
old  accounts.  Don't  you  suppose  that  you're  pretty  well  paid 
up  for  the  past  V 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  being  paid  up.  I  ain't 
any  better  off  for  all  I've  done  for  you  and  him.  You're  pretty 
rich,  I  reckon.  I'm  as  poor  as  a  wood-rat." 

"  And  whose  fault  ?  You've  had  money.  Why  didn't  you 
keep  it  ?" 

"I've  had  precious  little,  anyhow;  and  I  had  to  live — me 
and  my  wife  and  children.  What  I've  got,  always  came  by 
driblets,  and  went  as  fast  as  it  came." 

"  You  talk  of  your  wife  and  children,  Bostwick,  but  I'm  think 
ing  they  got  but  a  small  share  of  your  money.  You've  drunk  it 
up  and  gambled  it  away,  and  to  keep  you  in  money,  when  it 
goes  as  fast  as  it  comes,  is  clearly  impossible." 

"  I  must  have  it,  that's  sartain,  squire,"  answered  the  other, 
doggedly.  "  I've  been  working  mighty  hard,  and  not  at  good 
work  neither,  for  a  mighty  long  time.  You've  got  rich  by  my 
labors.  You  and  he"  (meaning  Moncrieff)  "  got  all  the  niggers 
—  more  than  two  hundred,  I  reckon.  If  I  had  got  for  them  nig 
gers —  all  of  my  bringing  —  what  they  focht,  or  will  fetch,  to 
you  —  I'd  ha'  been  as  rich  as  any." 

"  Yes  !  perhaps  !  But  without  him  and  me,  you  could  have 
got  nothing  for  them.  He  had  the  ships  to  carry  them  off,  and 
the  king's  stores  to  pay  for  them,  and  but  for  him  you  wouldn't 
have  had  the  price  of  the  hair  of  a  negro  for  your  pains.  Yor 


ROGUES   IN   CONFERENCE.  17 

must  not  suppose  that  what  you've  done  could  have  been  of  any 
nse  but  for  us.  Still,  you  have  been  paid,  according  to  agree 
ment.  You've  had  a  good  deal  of  money — " 

"  In  driblets,  I  say." 

"And  stores — clothes — " 

"  Yes,  the  king's  stores  ;  and  ef  I  was  to  blow  Tiim  to  General 
Leslie,  for  it,  where  would  he  be  ?  And  if  I  was  to  blow  you  to 
the  rebels,  where  would  you  be  ?" 

"  Pshaw !  you  might  blow  to  all  eternity,  Bostwick,  and 
would  only  hang  yourself  the  faster.  You  sold  me  negroes,  and 
gave  me  your  titles  for  them.  I  have  your  hand  and  seal  on  it 
my  good  fellow —  all  fair  business  transactions.  Don't  be  a  foo). 
Bostwick,  as  well  as  a  knave.  Keep  your  senses  as  long  as  you 
can.  You  shall  have  the  five  guineas  as  soon  as  MoncriefY 
comes  back;  but  the  question  then  will  be, -how  much  more  you 
are  to  have  ?  I  suppose  we  can  present  you  with  a  good  chance 
of  stores  which  you  can  sell  to  the  rebels  at  your  own  price. 
They  are  monstrously  in  need  of  clothes." 

"  I  hain't  made  much  by  what  I've  sold  yit,  and  I'm  jest  as 
poor  a  man  as  ever.  That  ain't  reasonable.  Arter  all  I've 
dene  to  make  a  little  money,  losing  my  character,  and  my  own 
light  feeling,  I  ought  to  have  something  to  show  for  it." 

"  Well,  as  the  British  are  going,  there  will  be  pretty  leavings, 
and  Moncrieff  won't  stand  upon  trifles,  in  helping  a  fellow  that 
has  been  faithful  to  him.  If  he  leaves  you  stores,  which  will 
bring  a  hundred  guineas,  you  ought  to  be  satisfied.  Don't  you 
think  so  ?" 

"  Ef  I  kin  do  no  better,"  was  the  somewhat  sulky  answer. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  that  something  of  the  kind  will  be  done, 
and  that  will  settle  off  for  the  past.  I  may  give  you  good  busi 
ness  hereafter.  MoncriefF's  coming  now,  and  we'll  fix  your 
affairs  for  you  at  once." 

The  approaching  footsteps  of  Mojicrieff  arrested  the  confer 
ence  between  the  two.  He  soon  after  appeared,  looking  exces 
sively  disquieted.  Let  us  leave  the  three  for  a  few  moments 
while  we  return  to  the  Widow  Eveleigh. 


18  WOODCRAFT. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

THE  WIDOW  BECOMES  TROUBLESOME. 

WE  left,  the  brave  widow  in  an  apparent  calm  of  mind,  which 
she  did  not  altogether  feel.  She  was  a  person  of  that  tempera 
ment  which  does  not  affect  repose  —  to  which  it  is  rather  re 
straint  than  rest — and  which,  having  grateful  performances 
before  it,  regards  delay  with  disgust,  and  feels  the  necessity  to 
wait  as  an  evil  rather  than  a  virtue.  But  the  good  had  schooled 
her  moods  with  considerable  success,  and,  if  she  felt  the  feverish 
impatience  which  prompts  one  to  be  up  and  doing,  she  was  yet 
able  to  subdue  its  exhibitions  when  these  might  come  in  conflict 
with  duties  equally  requiring  forbearance.  She  amused  herself, 
as  we  have  seen,  in  examining  the  more  curious  portions  of  the 
furniture  ^f  the  apartment  in  which  she  was  required  to  w^ , 
We  have  noticed  her  examination  of  the  beautiful  duelling  pis 
tols  of  Moncrieff,  and  the  discovery  to  which  this  examination 
led.  Her  eyes  were  soon  caught  by  the  swords  and  sabres  huiioj 
upon  the  wall.  Among  these  was  a  Turkish  scimitar,  with 
handle  of  mother-of-pearl,  at  the  sight  of  which  she  slightly 
started.  In  a  moment  she  had  arisen  and  taken  the  weapon 
from  the  wall.  She  drew  it  fairly  from  the  scabbard,  and  sur 
veyed  the  polished  and  beautiful  blade,  unstained  and  unspotted, 
with  a  degree  of  interest  which  seemed  to  arise  from  other  causes 
than  its  simple  beauty.  She  waved  the  bright  steel  upward, 
with  a  somewhat  gladiatorial  air,  then  held  it  before  her  eyes, 
and  it  was  while  she  was  thus  employed,  and  in  this  attitude, 
that  Moncrieff  suddenly  re-entered  the  apartment.  He  abso 
lutely  recoiled  at  the  spectacle,  with  an  expression  of  wonder  on 
his  countenance,  which  he  did  not  seek  to  conceal, 

"  By  Mars,  madam,  you  terrify  me  !  Positively,  I  must  -arm 
myself,  and  get  me  a  shield.  I  shall  believe  in  the  Amazons 
after  this." 

The  lady  smiled  sadly,  and  restored  the  weapon  slowly  and 


THE   WIDOW   BECOMES   TROUBLESOME.  li> 

earefully  to  its  sheath.     A  tear  was  in  her  eye,  but  it  escaped 
that  of  Moncrieff.     She  said  in  low  tones,  as  if  apologetically  — 

"I  know  this  scimitar,  Colonel  Moncrieff:  I  have  seen  it 
often,  with  its  former  owner,  at  my  dwelling.  It  was  Major 
Andre's." 

"  You  are  right,  madam  ;  and  I  do  not  wonder  at  youi  curi 
osity.  Poor  Andre  !  What  a  cruel  fate  !  —  and  he,  with  such 
tastes,  such  sensibilities,  and  such  ambition !" 

"  Too  much  lacking  pride,  however." 

"  How,  madam,  pride  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  or  he  had  never  suffered  himself  to  be  put  to  such  base 
uses." 

"  I  do  not  see,  Mrs.  Eveleigh,  that  fidelity  to  one's  king,  can 
properly  be  so  stigmatized." 

"  There  is  a  higher  fidelity  to  one's  self,  one's  honor  and  in-^^7 
dividual  character.     But  he  paid  the  terrible  penalty,  and  we     / 
must  not  dwell  upon  his  weaknesses.     He  had  tastes,  and  sensi-    / 
bilities,  as  you  say;  —  he  loved  music  and  poetry,  and  could 
make  the  song  and  find  for  it  the  fitting  harmonies.     He  has 
frequently  joined  me  on  the  harpsichord,  and  would  forget,  at 
our  evening  fireside,  all  the  habits  of  the  soldier.     He  was  not 
fitted  for  such  a  life,  and  he  felt  it.     I  have  listened  to  his  own 
self-reproaches,  for  having  chosen  the  profession.     He  did  so  in 
an  hour  of  disappointment  —  of  weakness  —  and  was  only  not 
courageous  enough  to  abandon  it  when  he  felt  his  unsuitableness 
for  it." 

"  But,  Andre  was  a  brave  man,  Mrs,  Eveleigh." 

"  Yes  ;  in  one  sense  of  the  word.  He  had  conventional  cour 
age,  but  not  intrepidity.  He  would  have  shown  himself  fearless 
in  the  sight  of  armies — he  would  have  fought  his  man  without 
flinching  in  the  sight  of  friends  ;  but  he  had  none  of  that  gladia 
tor  spirit — that  Hunnish  blindness — which  belongs  to  the  soldier 
from  choice.  Had  he  possessed  this  quality,  he  would  have  dis 
dained  the  petty  employments  which  finally  cost  him  his  life." 

"  Well,  madam,  you  have  given  me  something  to  think  upon, 
though  I  knew  Andre  well.  We  exchanged  swords  in  proof  of 
friendship  —  though,  by  the  way,  mine  was  the  most  costly 
weapon  of  the  two.  It  was  a  genuine  Damascus,  while  thin, 
though  a  very  beautiful  imitation,  is  not !" 


20  WOODCRAFT. 

The  widow  looked  at  the  speaker  with  an  unalloyed  expres 
sion  of  disgust.  Her  glance  did  not  escape  him,  and  his  face 
was  slightly  flushed,  as  he  added — 

"  Though,  of  course,  the  difference  of  value  between  the  weap 
ons  was  not  a  subject  of  consideration.  Indeed,  if  I  remember 
rightly,  the  first  proposal  to  exchange  came  from  me.  It  was 
just  when  he  was  about  to  embark  for  New  York,  with  Sir 

Henry." 

He  paused,  and  the  lady  was  also  silent.  She  appeared  wil 
ling  to  drop  the  subject.  Moncrieff  then  promptly  recurred  to' 
the  business  upon  which  she  came. 

"  I  have  made  you  out  the  order,  Mrs.  Eveleigh,  for  your  ne 
groes,  if  they  are,  as  you  say,  in  the  custody  of  Captain  Dort." 
"  Captain  Dort,  sir  !    I  know  nothing  of  him,  and  have  named 
no   such  person.     The  negroes  are  in   the   'hulk'   at  Market 
Dock,  and  their  keeper  I  have  not  seen." 

"  He  is  Captain  Dort,  madam,  a  Hessian,  and  the  keeper  of 
the  'hulk.'  Had  he  not  been  drunk,  madam,  you  would  pos 
sibly  have  seen  him  —  and  possibly  not  your  negroes." 

This  was  spoken  with  unsuppressed  chagrin.     He  added : — 
"  Here  is  the  order,  madam." 

"  I  thank  you,  Colonel  Moncrieff.  And  now  that  my  own 
affair  is  settled,  suffer  me  to  draw  your  attention  to  that  of  one 
of  my  neighbors,  and  an  old  acquaintance.  I  discovered  in  the 
'  hulk,'  while  looking  for  my  own  slaves,  seven  others,  who 
belong  to  Captain  Porgy,  a  planter  on  the  Ashepoo.  They 
knew  me,  and  I  them,  in  an  instant.  They  implored  me  to  ob 
tain  their  restoration  to  their  owner,  and  I  shall  be  obliged  to 
you  for  an  order  to  tin's  effect  also." 

"  By  the  powers,  madam,  but  this  is  quite  too  much !  One 
would  think  that  you  might  be  content  with  having  secured  youi 
own  property." 

"  Not  so,  Major  Moncrieff !  We  are  taught  t'o  love  our  neigh 
bor  as  ourself,  and  such  love  can  be  shown  in  no  better  way,  per 
haps,  than  in  giving  heed  to  his  interest  at  the  moment  when  we 
attend  to  our  own.  Indeed,  sir,  I  do  not  know  but  that,  as  a  good 
Christian,  I  should  have  thought  first  of  his  concerns." 

"  Oh  !  you  are  scrupulous,  ma'am  !  But,  in  truth,  this  Porgy, 
is  a  fierce  and  pestilent  fellow — one  of  the  gang  of  Marion  —  who 


THE    WIDOW    BECOMES     TkOUi'.LKSOM  K.  *J1 

has  made  himself  particularly  conspicuous  as  a  malignant.  He 
has  certainly  no  reason  to  expect  favor  at  our  hands." 

"  Oh  !  surely  not  favor  !  The  question  is  one  of  right,  sim 
ply.  Either  these  negroes  are  Captain  Porgy's  or  not.  I  can 
prove  them  to  be  so." 

"  But  not  that  he  has  not  sold  them  ?" 

"  His  hill  of  sale  would  show  that." 

" 'Mndam,  you  should  have  been  a  lawyer." 

"  But  a  little  while  ago,  your  opinion  was  that  I  should  haw 
ill-en  a  soldier." 

"  Egad  !  madam,  it  is  difficult  to  say  what  -profession  you  might 
net  have  chosen  successfully." 

"  Thank  you  sir  for  the  compliment,  however  equivocal.  But 
you  will  give  me  the  order,  will  you  not?" 

"  Oh  !  to  be  sure,  if  there  really  be  such  negroes  in  our  pos 
session." 

"  They  are  entered  in  the  '  hulk-book'  in  your  name." 

"  The  devil  they  are  !  It  is  strange  that  people  should  take 
my  name  in  vain  so  eternally.  I  must  see  to  it.  These  cursed 
Hessians,  Mrs.  Eveleigh,  are  the  greatest  rogues  and  drunkards 
in  the  world.  I  will  see  to  the  matter.  If  the  negroes  are 
there,  when  I  make  the  inquiry,  I  will  send  you  an  order  for 
them.  Let  me  have  your  address,  if  you  please." 

"  I  am  with  my  friend,  Mrs.  Merchant,  in  Church  street." 

"  Mrs.  Merchant,"  writing.  "  The  Merchants  are  all  our 
friends.  And  now,  Mrs.  Eveleigh,  as  I  have  already  said,  if  the 
negroes  of  Captain  Porgy  are  really  in  the  '  hulk' — " 

"  You  forget,  Colonel  Moncrieff,  that  I  have  just  told  you  that 
I  myself  have  seen  them  there." 

"  Pardon  me,  madam  ;  I  do  not  forget.  But  you  do  not  know 
these  Hessians.  If  they  have  had  the  audacity  to  enter  these 
negroes  in  my  name,  they  will  not  scruple  at  doing  worse.  They 
will  be  very  apt  to  hide  them  elsewhere,  the  moment  they  sus 
pect  that  they  are  in  danger  of  detection." 

"  So  much  the  more  important,  Colonel  Moncrieff,  that  I  should 
have  the  order  for  them  promptly,  and  before  they  get  wind  of 
their  danger.  But,  in  fact,  there  is  no  chance  of  their  doing  as 
you  suppose ;  for,  before  I  came  here  apprehending  this  very 
danger,  T  procured  the  assistance  of  three  vigilant  friends,  who 


22  WOODCRAFT. 

are  now  watching  every  movement  at  the  '  hulk/  and  will  fol 
low  the  negroes  wherever  they  go." 

"  Then,  madam,"  answered  the  British  colonel,  with  evident 
chagrin,  "  I  may  as  well  give  you  the  order  out  of  hand." 

"  I  shall  thank  you,  sir." 

"  I  trust,  madam,  that  your  requisitions  stop  here  ;  for,  though 
very  happy  to  oblige  the  ladies,  and  to  do  justice,  my  interfe 
rence  will  make  me  many  enemies  among  these  rascally  Hes 
sians." 

"  Oh  !  sir,  you  will  survive  that  danger.  But  this  is  the  ex 
tent  of  my  demands.  I  have  no  doubt  that  there  are  many 
other  slaves,  about  to  be  fraudulently  taken  from  their  owners, 
but  I  can  advance  no  proof  to  this  effect." 

"  The  names,  if  you  please,  madam,  of  the  negroes,  whom  you 
claim  for  this  rebel,  Porpoise  !" 

"  Porgy,  sir,"  was  the  correction,  with  a  quiet  smile,  as  the 
lady  beheld  the  evident  chagrin  of  her  companion. 

"  Well,  madam  —  Porgy  —  though  both  names  are  sufficiently 
fish,  and  of  the  two,  the  Porpoise  is  decidedly  the  most  dignified." 

"  But  less  fit  for  the  table,  sir,"  answered  the  widow,  as  she 
proceeded  to  give  the  names  of  the  negroes.  Moncrieff  wrote 
as  she  spoke.  A  few  moments  were  thus  consumed ;  then  he 
threw  down  his  pen,  looked  at  the  lady,  then  among  his  papers, 
rose  at  length  with  a  dissatisfied  air,  and  hurried  again  to  the  inner 
room  where  he  had  left  M'Kewn  and  Bostwick.  In  a  few  sec 
onds  he  again  returned,  still  with  a  manner  of  some  disquiet. 
Again  he  stirred  lip,  and  glanced  over  the  papers  upon  his  table, 
but  without  seeming  to  satisfy  his  search.  Resuming  his  seat 
and  pen,  at  length,  he  finished  tlis  order  for  the  delivery  of 
Porgy 'a  negroes,  and  rising,  handed  it  with  great  politeness  to 
the  widow,  expressing  at  the  same  time,  in  very  stately  lan 
guage,  the  profound  delight  which  he  felt  in  being  able  to  com 
ply  with  the  wishes  of  a  lady  whom  General  Leslie  was  so  well 
pleased  to  honor.  The  widow  was  not  to  be  outdone  in  conven 
tional  graces.  She  answered  him  in  terms  equally  polite  and 
profound;  and,  with  smiles  and  courtesies,  took  her  departure. 
He  waited  upon  her  to  the  entrance.  When  the  door  had  fairly 
closed  behind  her,  he  gave  full  expression  to  his  chagrin  in  a 
burst  of  wrath  and  denunciation. 


THE   OVERSEER,    FORDHAM.  23 

"  The  d .1  cool  and  confident  creature  ?    Hark  you,  within 

there,  M'Kcwn  come  out!  —  and  you,  too,  Master  Bostwick  !  — 
that  I  may  have  somebody  to  cimse  till  I  am  comfortable.  We 
are  handsomely  bedevilled,  i'  faitn,  and  by  a  woman.  But  such 
a  woman !  In  truth,  she  is  a  woman,  and  worth  half  the  men  J 
k  now." 


CHAPTER    V 

THE    OVERSEER,    FORDHAM. 

THE  excellent  lady  of  whom  these  words  were  spoken,  had, 
meanwhile  quietly  taken  her  place  in  the  carriage  which  had 
been  awaiting  her  in  the  street.  The  driver  was  a  black,  in  the 
livery  of  Mrs.  Merchant,  to  whom  the  establishment  belonged. 
Mrs.  Eveleigh  was  not  its  only  occupant.  On  the  back  seat, 
beside  her,  sat  a  white  man,  who  had  held  possession  while  she 
remained  within  the  quarters  of  Moncrieff.  Here,  he  had  studi 
ously  kept  himself  from  being  seen,  but  had  not  been  the  less 
disposed  to  maintain  a  vigilant  watch  upon  all  without.  He  re 
ceived  the  widow,  on  her  return,  Avith  a  manner  which  was 
equally  attentive  and  respectful.  The  appearance  of  this  person 
was  that  of  one  who  had  not  been  accustomed  to  a  place  so  dis 
tinguished.  He  was  not  abashed,  but  awkward.  He  was  evidently 
a  backwoodsman,  in  humble  life,  wearing  the  costume  of  the 
woodsman  of  that  period,  a  rather  snug-fitting  suit  of  blue  home 
spun,  with  a  sort  of  hunting-shirt  of  the  same  color  and  material, 
though  without  the  customary  fringes  which  made  it  the  military 
garb  of  the  forest  rangers,  or  militia.  His  face  and  hands  were 
well  embrowned  by  the  sun.  The  latter  were  large  and  rough, 
and  had  been  well  exercised  in  splitting  their  two  hundred  rails 
per  day.  The  features  of  his  face  were  large  and  rough  also, 
but  mild,  and  full  of  honesty.  His  great  blue  eye  was  expres 
sive  of  much  benevolence,  but  mixed  with  a  decisive  and  earnest 
manliness.  The  widow  addressed  him  as  Mr.  Fordham — nay, 
she  called  him  "  Fordham,"  familiarly,  without  the  prefix,  and 
it  did  not  at  all  lessen  his  deference,  this  freedom.  He  was,  ID 


•24  WOODCRAFT. 

fact,  the  overseer  of  her  plantation,  and  had  been  the  employee 
of  her  hushand.  A  long  experience  had  perfectly  assured  them 
both  of  his  fidelity  and  worth.  That  the  widow  had  chosen  him 
as  her  companion,  on  the  present  occasion,  was  due  to  the  ob 
jects  she  had  in  view,  and  to  the  necessity  of  the  case.  He  had 
been  the  agent  who  had  successfully  discovered  the  place  in 
which  her  negroes  were  confined.  By  his  scheming,  the  Hessian 
guards  at  the  "hulk"  had  been  drenched  with  Jamaica,  and 
access  had  been  procured  to  that  prison,  and  to  the  books  which 
*  identified  the  slaves  with  their  several  British  appropriators.  In 
this  business  he  was  much  more  efficient  than  any  of  the  more 
eminent  friends  of  Mrs.  Eveleigh  could  have  been ;  and  the 
work  being  an  unpleasant  one,  she  had  preferred  to  employ  a 
person  whose  services  she  could  compensate,  rather  than  those 
who,  however  well  pleased  to  serve  her,  would  yet  have  found 
the  particular  duty  somewhat  disagreeable.  But  the  good  lady, 
though  an  aristocrat,  was  not  disposed  to  underrate  Mr.  Ford- 
ham,  as  a  friend,  while  employing  him  as  her  overseer.  She 
really  respected  the  man,  and,  as  he  never  trespassed  upon  her 
indulgence,  she  felt  that  she  might  safely  honor  him  with  her 
friendship,  as  well  as  her  interests. 

"  Well,  Fordham,"  she  said,  as  soon  as  she.  had  taken  her 
seat  beside  him,  "  if  you  have  kept  your  eyes  about  you,  you 
have,  probably,  made  a  discovery." 

"  Indeed  I  have,  ma'am  !     You  mean  the  squatter,  Bostwick." 

"  I  was  not  mistaken  in  the  fellow,  then  f     You  saw  him  V 

"  Oh,  yes,  ma'am  ;  there's  no  mistaking  such  a  fellow  !  He 
came  up  soon  after  you  went  in  —  pushed  in  without  knocking, 
jest  as  ef  he  was  at  his  own  home.  But,  did  he  see  you, 
ma'am  T 

"  Yes ;  but  I  rather  think  he  believes  that  I  did  not  see  him. 
Are  you  sure  that  he  did  not  see  you  ?" 

"  Quite  sure,  ma'am.  He  never  once  looked  this  way,  and 
b-cemed  a  little  beflustered  and  in  a  mighty  great  hurry.  I 
reckon  he's  found  out  what  we've  been  after.  He's  at  the  bot 
tom  of  this  business." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it  now.  Yet,  who  could  have  believed 
it? — that  the  wretch  could  be  so  ungrateful — and  his  wife  and 
children  living,  as  it  were,  out  of  my  hands  1" 


TlIK    OVKiiSKKiJ,    l-'OHDIlAAl.  2S 

"  He's  jest  one  of  that  very  breed,  ma'am,  that  does  this  sort 
of  things.  No  good  ever  comes  out  of  sicli  a  cre'tur'  no  more 
than  out  of  a  snake.  Warm  'em  as  you  please  by  your  own 
fireside,  and  feed  'em  kindly  out  of  your  own  hands,  and  it 
makes  no  difference.  Once  warm,  they're  sure  to  bite  you.  All 
their  vartue,  they  seems  to  think,  lies  only  in  their  venom. 
What  will  you  do  with  him,  ma'am?" 

"  I  don't  see  that  anything  can  be  done  with  him.  The  proofs 
against  him  are,  at  present,  only  in  our  suspicions.  Besides,  for 
the  sake  of  the  poor,  broken-hearted  woman,  his  wife,  and  his 
wretched  children,  I  prefer  that  he  should  go  free." 

"  Why,  yes,  ma'am,  if  one  could  be  sure  that  he  would  do  no 
more  mischief.  But  you're  not  sure  of  sich  a  cre'tur'  a  minute. 
He's  always  at  something  wrong.  'Twould  be  a  monstrous 
sight  better  for  his  wife  and  children  ef  he'd  clear  out  with  the 
British.  He's  as  good  as  one  of  'em." 

"  Perhaps  he  may." 

"  A  good  riddance  then  for  all.  But  lynching  might  be  of 
help  to  him  before  he  goes." 

"  Nay,  I'm  not  sure  of  that." 

"  'Twould  hurt  him  then,  and  that's,  anyhow,  as  much  as  we 
ought  to  care  about.  But,  one  thing,  I'll  tell  you,  ma'am.  Ef 
he  don't  clear  out  when  the  British  go,  he'll  be  of  trouble  to  us 
yit.  We'll  have  to  keep  all  eyes  open,  ef  he's  to  stay  in  the 
country." 

"  I  must  use  your  eyes  then,  Fordham,  for  this  purpose,  as  I 
have  done  for  so  long  a  time  already.  I  have  every  confidence 
hi  your  vigilance  and  ability,  Fordham." 

"  You  may  rest  on  me,  ma'am." 

"  Thank  you,  Fordham.  I  feel  sure  of  that.  I  need  not  tell 
you,  Fordham,  that  I  have  the  order  for  the  negroes." 

"  Captain  Porgy's  too,  ma'am?" 

"  Yes,  both." 

"  Good !  It  must  have  been  like  physic  to  the  British  colo 
nel  to  have  to  give  'em  up." 

"  Yes,  indeed !  But  here  are  the  orders,  both  for  Captain 
Porgy's.  and  mine.  You  must  take  the  negroes  into  your  own 
keeping  —  take  them  to  Moore's  house,  *  up  the  path,'  and  Moore 
and  his  two  sons  will  take  turns  with  you,  for  a  few  days,  in 


26  WOODCRAFT. 

watching  them.  We  will  keep  within  the  garrison  till  the  Brit- 
ish  troops  leave,  and  our  own  people  march  in,  and  shall  then 
escape  any  danger  from  detachments  about  the  country.  In  a 
week  or  ten  days  we  may  safely  depart.  I  will  leave  town  with 
you.  Here  we  are,  at  Mrs.  Merchant's.  You  will  take  the  car 
riage,  and  go  at  once  to  the  *  hulk.'  My  friends  there,  Miles, 
Johnson,  and  Sturgis,  will  help  you  to  procure  the  negroes,  and 
here  is  General  Leslie's  order  for  keeping  them  in  your  posses 
sion  undisturbed.  I  will  get  the  protection  of  our  commissioner 
also,  who  will  be  in  town  to-morrow.  Now,  Fordham,  I  leave, 
all  in  your  hands.  Good-morning." 


CHAPTER   VI. 

THE    OLD    ROGUES    MAKE    NEW    PLOTS. 

"MAY  the  foul  fiend  deliver  us  from  such  a  woman!"  was 
the  exclamation  of  Moncrieff,  as  his  two  confederates  entered 
the  apartment ;  and  he  swore  terribly  as  "  our  army  did  in  Flan 
ders." 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter  1  anything  more  —  anything  worse  ?" 
demanded  M'Kewn. 

"Ay,  indeed!"  answered  Moncrieff,  busily  looking  among  his 
papers — and  he  told  of  the  further  requisition  which  the  widow 
had  made  for  the  negroes  of  Porgy. 

"  But  you  did  not  give  them  up  ?" 

"  How  the  devil,  could  I  help  it  ?"  was  the  fierce  response  of 
the  British  colonel.  M'Kewn  was  almost  as  furious. 

"  I'd  have  seen  her  d d  first !"  cried  the  other. 

"  Oh  !  you  would,  would  you  1  but  she  would  have  had  the 

negroes,  though  you  d d  her  into  the  deepest  part  of  you) 

own  future  dominions." 

And  he  then  told  of  the  precaution  taken  by  the  wily  widow 
— how  she  had  placed  her  friends  in  watch  upon  the  "hulk," 
leaving  them  no  opportunity  for  evasion.  For  the  time,  they 
were  in  her  power. 

*  I  would  have  baffled  her  if  the  thing  could  have  been  done ; 


THE    OLD    ROGUES   MAKE    NEW    PLOTS.  27 

but  I  saw  no  way  of  escape.  She  has  the  order,  and  it  will  not 
be  long  before  the  negroes  are  in  her  keeping." 

Moncrieff  and  M'Kewn  were  equally  savage.  Bostwick,  who 
had  nothing  to  lose,  and  could  not  be  made  to  disgorge,  was  com 
paratively  cool  and  indifferent.  The  anger  of  the  two  fornu-i 
having  subsided  a  little,  they  began  to  congratulate  themselves 
that  the  matter  was  no  worse  —  that  they  had  got  off,  in  fact.  HO 
easily.  The  requisition  might  as  readily  have  relieved  them  of 
two  hundred  as  of  twenty  negroes.  The  question  with  them 
was,  in  what  way  to  save  the  residue.  The  widow  had  only  to 
report  what  she  kneAV,  to  the  commissioners  of  the  American 
army,  to  wrest  from  them  all  of  their  ill-gotten  fugitives.  For 
tunately  for  them,  the  commissioners  were  not  then  in  the  city. 
They  were  in  the  American  camp,  procuring  all  possible  forms 
of  proof  for  the  reclamation  of  the  goods  of  citizens.  They 
might,  and  probably  would,  return  to  the  city,  in  the  space  of 
another  day,  and  the  first  object  with  our  Arcadians,  was  how, 
meanwhile,  to  secure  the  rest  of  the  stolen  negroes.  But  the 
parties  interested  had  their  mode  of  operation,  and  were  not 
without  experience.  It  will  suffice  here,  if  we  mention  the  fact 
that,  but  very  few  of  the  two  hundred  remaining  in  the  "  hulk," 
after  Mrs.  Eveleigh  had  secured  hers,  were  ever  restored  to  their 
owners.  The  next  morning,  at  dawn,  found  the  "  hulk"  empty, 
while  one  of  the  transports  had  hauled  out  into  the  stream,  ready 
to  depart  at  a  given  signal.  To  arrange  these  matters,  our  com 
panions  needed  little  discussion. 

"  And  now,"  said  Moncrieff  c'  now  that  wo  have  resolved  what 
is  to  be  done,  I  will  give  you  the  order  without  delay.  That 
drunken  rascal,  Dort,  must  be  relieved  of  all  such  trusts  in  fu 
ture.  This  woman,  through  some  of  her  friends,  has  practised 
upon  his  love  of  Hollands.  She  had  never  got  a  peep  at  those 
books  otherwise.  We  must  give  their  charge  to  Witsell.  Do 
you  keep  here,  M'Ke~wn,  and  see  tha!;  Bostwick  does  not  expose 
the  beauties  of  his  face  until  I  send  Waldron  to  you.  He  will 
tell  you  if  the  coast  be  clear.  For  his  own  sake,  it  will  not  do 
to  identify  him  in  my  quarters.  Indeed,  I  don't  know  but  rJiat 
my  own  character  needs  the  same  precaution.  You  are  not, 
Master  Bostwick,  the  handsomest  piece  of  humanity  tlur;  *V.9 
world  has  witnessed." 


28  WOODCRAFT. 

"  I  am  jist  as  God  made  me,  Colonel  Moncrieff,"  responded 
the  squatter,  sulkily. 

"  Pooh  !  pooh  !  Bostwick,  that's  all  a  mistake.  Do  you  sup 
pose  that  God  made  you  at  all  ?  If  he  did,  do  you  presume  to 
say  that  you  are  in  just  as  good  condition  as  when  you  came  out 
of  his  hands  V 

"  Ef  I'm  changed  for  the  worse,  colonel,  I  know  who  has 
helped  to  change  me,"  and  the  fellow's  eyes  looked  alternately 
to  liis  two  companions. 

"  What !  you  would  give  us  the  credit  of  your  bad  improve 
ments  j  but  you  know  better,  Bostwick.  We  found  you  as  you 
are,  a  ready  made  rascal,  my  lad  ;  arid  employed  you  in  a  busi 
ness  for  which  your  education  was  complete.  But  you  want 
money,  M'Kewn  says  1  Well,  we  must  give  you  a  little.  Five 
guineas  you  say  ?  There  it  is.  And  now,  Master  Bostwick, 
you  are  pretty  well  paid.  In  fact,  considering  our  losses  this 
morning —  the  seven  of  the  widow  Eveleigh,  and  the  seven  more 
of  the  rebel,  Captain  Porpoise  —  seven,  is  it,  or  six  1  —  where  the 
d — 1  can  those  memorandums  be?  —  I  say,  considering  these 
losses,  you  are  something  overpaid.  But  we  won't  be  tight  with 
you,  my  good  fellow ;  and,  as  M'Kewn  hints,  I  will  leave  you, 
at  parting,  a  tolerable  supply  of  stores  with  which  you  can  do  a 
clever  little  business,  hereafter,  with  your  rebel  friends.  How 
does  this  plan  suit  you  ?" 

"  I  reckon  it  must  do,  colonel. >r 

"  Do  !  By ,  my  good  fellow,  you  are  about  the  most  un 
grateful,  and  not  easily  satisfied  scoundrel  of  my  acquaintance  !" 

"  And  it's  a  mighty  large  one  too,  I  reckon,"  was  the  answer 
of  Bostwick,  with  a  grin  that  seemed  to  show  that  he  was  fully 
conscious  of  the  sarcasm  contained  in  his  reply. 

"  You  are  right,  my  handsome  fellow — many  rascals  in  it,  no 
doubt,  but  no  one,  by ,  who  seems  sc  little  grateful  for  lit 
tle  favors  as  yourself.  But,  where,  the  d— 1,  are  these  mem- 
craiidums  ?  Have  you  seen  them,  M'Kewn  ?" 

"  You  mean  those  of  the  negroes  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  to  be  sure  !  I  had  them  here  but  a  while  ago  j"  and 
as  he  spoke.  Moncrieff  looked  suspiciously  at  Bostwick.  He 
bumbled  over  the  papers  on  his  table,  but  without  effect.  He 


THE  OLD  ROGUES  MAKE  NEW  PLOTS.         29 

IViilcil  to  fii.cl  what  lie  sought.  M'Kewn  interested  himself  also 
in  the  search. 

"  Could  the  widow  have  laid  hands  upon  them  ?"  he  suddenly 
asked,  with  some  anxiety. 

"No!  Impossible!"  said  Moncrieff,  and  his  eyes  again 
glanced  at  Bostwick,  who  sat  sullenly  beside  the  fireplace,  look 
ing  down  upon  the  hearth.  M'Kewn  also  glanced  in  the  same 
direction ;  but  his  mind  reverted  again  to  his  former  suspicion. 

"  If  the  widow  has  laid  hands  on  them,  it  will  be  a  bad  busi 
ness,"  said  he,  apprehensivelyt 

"  Pshaw  !  she  wouldn't  have  touched  them  for  the  world.  A 
lady,  M'Kewn —  a  lady." 

"  If  she  did  take  them,  there's  no  way  of  getting  them  from 
her." 

"I  should  certainly  be  the  last  man  to  think  of  demanding 
them.  But,  continue  the  search,  M'Kewn.  Look  among  the 
papers  in  the  other  room.  I  must  hurry  off  to  Dort,  and  see  to 
this  business." 

When  he  was  gone,  M'Kewn  exclaimed  — 

"  Lady  or  no  lady,  I'll  lay  my  life,  that  woman  has  pocketed 
the  papers!" 

"What  peers'?"  asked  Bostwick,  indifferently. 

"  The  papers  thac  will  hang  you  like  a  dog,  fool !  The  mem 
orandums  of  all  the  negroes  brought  in  during  the  last  month, 
and  who  brought  them,  and  whence  they  were  taken.  My  name 
'and  yours  are  both  upon  the  paper." 

"  Who  put  'em  there  1     I  can't  write.   You  must  ha'  done  it." 

"  So  I  did.  I  had  to  keep  your  accounts  as  well  as  my  own, 
with  Moncrieff.  Look  you,  Bostwick,  we  must  find  out  if  she's 
got  them,  and  if  she  has,  we  must  get  them  from  her,  or  the 
country  will  be  too  hot  to  hold  us." 

"  I  don't  see.  There's  a  paper,  you  say,  with  your  name  and 
my  name ;  but  anybody  can  write  my  name,  and  I'm  not  answer 
able  if  I  don't  write  it  myself.  I  reckon,  if  there's  anybody  in 
danger,  you  are  the  man." 

"You  reckon  so,  do  you?  —  as  if  my  evidence  won't  convict 
you,  should  the  paper  convict  me; — for  I  must  show  how  the 
negroes  came  into  my  hands.  Don't  be  u  fool,  Bostwick.  We 
must  get  those  papers  !" 


30  WOODCRAFT. 

«  W^ll  —how  ?     I'm  agreeable  to  anything." 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,  and  to  make  the  necessity  seem 
more  reasonable  to  you,  let  me  hint  that  we  must  not  only  get 
the  papers  back,  but  the  negroes.  They're  as  good  to  you  as 
ready  money." 

"  How  can  it  be  done  ?"  asked  the  squatter. 

"  I  must  find  out  when  the  widow  and  the  slaves  leave  town. 
You  can  easily  pick  up  half-a-dozen  of  the  fellows  of  Huck's 
gang,  can't  you  ?" 

"  For  good  pay,  and  guineas  in  4iand,  I  reckon." 

"You  shall  have  them.  If  we  can  find  out  when  she  leave.; 
town,  you  can  intercept  her  and  recover  the  papers  and  the,  ne 
groes.  We  shall  have  a  transport  sloop  at  the  mouth  of  tin- 
Edjsto,  off  and  on,  for  the  next  two  weeks.  In  that  time  tlici 
negroes  must  be  off  for  the  plantation,  as  they  will  be  wanted 
pretty  soon  for  breaking  up' the  rice  land.  If  you  can  recover 
them,  you  can  push  down  the  Edisto  in  boats,  where  Barton  and 
Drummond  will  be  on  the  lookout  for  you.  Do  you  see  ?" 

"Yes  —  cl'ar  enough.  But  there's  no  gitting  the  boys,  with 
out  the  guineas  in  Jtund.  I'm  rather  owing  them  something 
now,  and  they  won't  b'lieve  me  unless  I  kin  show  them  the 
goiild." 

"  You  shall  be  provided.  Leave  it  to  me  to  procure  the  neces 
sary  information,  Avhile  you  go  and  pick  up  the  refugees.  Half- 
a-dozen  stout  fellows,  in  all,  will  probably  answer,  and  you,  your 
self,  can  make  the  sixth  man.  The  fewer  the  better.  They 
are  more  manageable,  and  the  pay  will  be  larger  to  each.  When 
you  have  engaged  your  men,  promise  the  cash,  and  come  to  me 
for  the  money." 

Waldron  at  the  moment  entered. 

"  The  Colonel  says  all's  clear,  Mr.  M'Kewn." 

"Then  I'm  oft';"  said  Bostwick.  "  I  know  where  Dick  Nor- 
ris  and  Hafe  Burke  keep,  and  they  can  show  me  the  other  men 
I'll  come  to  you  at  your  own  place  to-night,  Mr.  M'Kewn." 

"  Very  good,  only  be  sure  and  keep  sober.  You  will  need  all 
your  senses." 

"  I'll  walk  a  crack  with  you  any  day,"  answered  the  other, 
as  he  hurried  out  of  the  room  with  Waldron.  For  a  moment 
after  his  departure,  M'Kewn  sat  musing.  Then,  appearing  to 


NEW   ISSUES   BETWEEN   OLD    ALLIES.  31 

recover  his  thoughts,  lie  proceeded  anew  to  search  for  the  missing 
papers  among  the  piles  which  lay  upon  the  table. 

"  I'll  look,"  he  muttered,  "  but  something  tells  me  that  woman 
has  got  them.  She  may  do  mischief  with  them,  and,  unluckily, 
it's  just  in  her  neighborhood  now  that  most  of  my  interest  lies. 
There's  that  estate  of  Porgy  :  my  mortgage  covers  his  land. — 
There's  Grillon's,  which  I've  bought  out  and  out  —  all,  as  I  may 
say,  alongside  of  her.  If  she  has  the  papers,  though  they  may 
absolutely  prove  nothing  certain,  they  prove  too  much.  She 
will  hardly  make  use  of  them  now.  The  British  going  out,  and 
the  Americans  coming  in,  will  cause  a  stir  for  sometime,  and 
she'll  be  quiet  'till  all  the  hubbub's  over.  Then! — But  that 
will  give  us  time,  and  time  is  half  the  capital  of  a  wise  m^n. 
She's  a  monstrous  fine  woman.  What  an  eye  she  carries  in  her 
head!  What  a  head  !  I  must  see  her  again!  She  has  a  fine 
estate,  almost  joining  those  I  got  of  Gillon." 

We  need  not  follow  him  in  his  musings.  Enough  to  say  that 
his  search  was  fruitlessly  continued,  for  sometime  longer,  after 
the  missing  papers. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

NEW    ISSUES    BETWEEN    OLD    ALLIES. 

SATURDAY,  the  14th  of  December,  1782,  was  the  day,  memo 
rable  in  the  annals  of  Charleston,  for  the  evacuation  of  that  city 
by  its  British  conquerors.  They  had  held  possession  of  it  for 
two  years,  seven  months  and  two  days.  Painful  to  them  was 
the  necessity  of  departing  from  a  region  in  which  they  had  been 
EO  successful  in  combining  profit  with  pleasure.  They  had 
spoiled  the  Egyptians  with  a  vengeance — had  luxuriated  in 
their  flesh-pots  for  a  long  season,  and  naturally  tore  themselves 
away  with  reluctance.  Nobody  suffered  more  grievously  from 
the  necessity  than  our  thirsty  colonel  of  engineers,  Moncrieff 
Yet,  no  one,  probably,  had  so  successfully  engaged  in  the  busi 
ness  of  "  appropriation."  His  portion  of  the  spoils,  in  negroes 


32  WOODCRAFT, 

alone,  is  estimated  at  eight  hundred.  These  had  been  shipped, 
at  various  periods,  for  the  West  India  islands,  as  soon  as  it  be 
came  obvious  to  all  that  the  war  was  about  to  close,  and  the 
evacuation  was  inevitable.  Fully  two  hundred  slaves,  as  we  have 
seen,  were  about  to  accompany  his  departure,  all  to  his  credit ; 
the  profits  of  which,  in  some  degree,  served  to  alleviate  the  dis 
quiet  that  he  felt  at  the  discontinuance  of  a  career,  the  fruits  of 
which  had  been  so  abundant.  In  respect  to  these,  there  was  a 
final  conference  between  himself  and  M'Kewn,  at  the  dawning 
of  the-  day  assigned  for  the  exodus  of  the  British.  M'Kewn 
sought  the  British  colonel  in  his  chamber,  and  while  the  latter 
was  yet  yawning  dismally,  not  thoroughly  awake,  at  once  over  his 
own  broken  slumbers,  and  the  chcerlessness  of  the  prospect,  the 
former  opened  the  last  business  interview  that  was  destined  to 
take  place  between  the  parties,  by  a  somewhat  abrupt  reference 
to  the  one  matter  which  particularly  concerned  himself." 

"  You  have  not  found  the  memorandum,  colonel  ?" 

"  No,  «1 — n  it,  it  is"  gone,  certainly.  I  have  searched  every 
where  bu"  in  vain.  Your  rascal,  Bostwick,  has  it,  in  all  proba 
bility.  I  can  hardly  persuade  myself  that  the  woman  took  it 
She  is  too  much  of  a  lady." 

"  That  may  be,  yet  I  doubt ;  and,  indeed,  I'm  not  so  sure 
that  even  as  a  lady,  she  need  have  any  scruples  at  putting  in 
her  pocket  a  document  which  so  much  concerned  her  own  in 
terest." 

"Ah!  and  that's  your  opinion?"  said  Moncrieff,  yawning, 
with  an  insolent  contempt  in  his  manner.  "  But,  permit  me  to 
say,  M'Kewn,  that  your  habits  in  life,  and  business,  are  not, 
perhaps,  the  best  calculated  to  make  you  a  judge  in  such  mat 
ters.  The  rules  which  govern  the  conduct  of  ladies  and  gentle 
men  do  not  necessarily  occur  to  persons  in  trade.  They  are, 
perhaps,  almost  exclusively  understood  by  those  only  whose  life 
from  the  beginning  has  been  in  society,  and  among  that  class 
which  finds  its  chief  occupation  in  this  very  study.  Now,  you 
are  a  shrewd  man  of  business,  M'Kewn  —  devilish  shrewd  as  a 
man  of  business  —  one  may  say  wise,  indeed  —  certainly,  mon 
strous  knowing  —  but  you  will  admit  that  you  have  paid  but 
small  attention  to  the  affairs  of  polite  society.  You  can  not  well 
understand  them,  my  good  fellow.  Permit  me  to  repeat  that 


NEW    ISSUES    BETWEEN    OLD    ALLIES.  33 

Mrs.  Eveleigh,  who  was  bom  in  the  purple  chamber  of  aris 
tocracy,  never  could  have  taken  this  paper:  —  never!  never!" 

M'Kewn's  brow  became  contracted  as  he  listened  to  this  offen 
sive  speech.  It  betrayed  the  contempt,  without  any  desire  for 
the  concealment,  with  which  the  insolent  official  regarded  him. 
All  motives  foi  concealing  this  contempt  were  at  an  end.  The 
intercourse  was  over  between  them.  The  orange  had  been 
fully  sucked,  and  M'Kewn  could  no  longer  be  of  use  to  the  ava 
rice  of  his  employer.  He  felt  all  this,  in  an  instant,  but  it  was 
not  his  policy  to  express  the  indignation  which  it  provoked.  A 
sharp  sarcasm,  indeed,  almost  forced  its  way  between  his  teeth; 
but  he  crushed  them  together,  at  the  peril  of  his  lips,  and  held 
his  peace  until  the  impulse  was  over.  Then  he  said,  quietly  — 

"  Bostwick,  I  know,  could  not  have  taken  the  paper,  for  the 
scoundrel  can't  read  a  syllable,  and  knew  riot  that  such  a  paper 
was  in  existence.  The  temptation  to  the  widow,  Eveleigh,  was 
great,  and  if  she  has  it  in  her  possession,  the  affair  becomes  a 
very  serious  one  to  me." 

"  Why,  yes,"  rejoined  the  other,  with  an  air  of  the  greatest 
sang  froid,  "  it  might  hang  you,  M'Kewn." 

"  Hardly  that  ;  but  it  would  ruin  me." 

"  You  have  managed  badly.  Why,  did  you  invest  in  real 
estate  ?  How  could  you  expect  to  make  away  with  it  ?  How 
could  you  expect  to  remain  after  our  departure  ?  Whether  this 
paper  arises  or  not,  you  are  surely  committed  irrevocably  with 
the  rebels.  Here  you  have  been  a  contractor  for  the  British 
army  —  you  were  one  of  the  addressors  of  Sir  Henry  —  an  un 
forgivable  offence.  That  you  are  a  creditor  of  some  of  the 
rebels,  and  hold  mortgages -upon  their  estates,  are  only  addi 
tional  reasons  for  the  confiscation  of  your  property,  and  the  en 
dangering  of  your  personal  safety.  It  has  always  seemed  to 
me  the  greatest  folly  that  you  should  think  to  remain.  It  is  .not 
too  late  to  determine  more  wisely.  Abandon  these  villanous 
acres,  these  liens,  which  will  be  wholly  worthless  to  you,  and 
get  yourself  aboard  the  fleet  before  the  army  moves." 

M'Kewn  seemed  to  brood  upon  the  suggestion  for  a  few  mo 
ments,  then  looking  up  suddenly,  replied — 

"  No  !  it  is  now  impossible.  I  should  be  a  beggar  elsewhere 
My  whole  capital  consists  in  these  lands,  and  these  liens  are 


34  WOODCRAFT. 

my  whole  stodt  in  trade.  I  must  take  my  chance.  I  do  not 
think  that  my  debtors,  though  rebels,  will  take  advantage  of  my 
situation;  and  but  for  this  accursed  paper " 

«0h!  d — u  the  paper!  Let's  hear  no  more  about  it.  You 
BCO  my  desk  there.  It  contains  the  only  papers  in  my  posses 
sion  which  I  have  not  destroyed.  These  will  go  with  me,  and 
can  never  rise  against  you.  I  can  say  no  more  on  the  subject. 
I  repeat,  you  are  an  idiot  if  you  stay.  You  can  not  hope  for 
safety.  Take  to  the  fleet,  and  be  aboard  as  soon  as  you  can. 
This  is  my  last  and  best  counsel." 

"M'Kewn  longed  to  ntter  the  savage  answer  which  he  could 
liuve  spoken  —  longed  to  snap  his  fingers  in  the  face  of  the  inso 
lent  Briton,  and  tell  him  that  while  he  fancied  that  he  used  him, 
lie  was  himself  used  —  th.it  he  had  guarantees  of  safety  of 
which  the  other  did  not  dream,  and  which,  had  he  known, 
would  a  British,  quite  as  soon 

as  an  American  gallows;  —  but  the  moment  for  such  daring  had 
not  come  by  several  hours.  He  reserved  himself  for  this  rela 
tion  to  the  moment,  when  the  American  army  was  fairly  within 
the  city.  A  slight  smile,  therefore,  was  employed  to  shadow  his 
future  purpose.  Moncrieff  did  not  perceive  the  sinister  meaning 
of  this  smile — he  added  —  rather  contemptuously  than  kindly  — 

"  If  you  reject  my  counsel  you  will  deserve  your  fate.  Yet, 
I  assure  you,  M'Kewn,  it  will  distress  me  to  hear  that  so  shrewd 
a  business  man  has  been  suddenly  made  to  ride  a  wooden  norse, 
and  unprovided  with  stirrups." 

"  I  see  that  you  have  nothing  further  forme,  colonel,"  was  the 
only  answer  of  M'Kewn. 

"  No,  my  good  fellow,  nothing.  Take  yourself  off,  now,  while 
I  make  my  toilet.  There  is  the  morning  gun.  You  can  see  me 
on  the  march  if  you  desire  it ;  but  i'  faith,  the  ceremony  of  part 
ing  is  usually  so  dismal  and  distressing,  that  I  do  not  know  but 
we  may  well  dispense  with  it.  At  all  events,  for  the  present, 
M'Kewn,  good  morning  —  good  morning." 

"  The  selfish  and  narrow-minded  scoundrel !"  muttered 
M'Kewn,  as  he  slowly  wound  his  way  down  the  staircase. 

"What  a  bore!"  exclaimed  Moncrieff,  as  the  other  disap 
peared.  "  With  his  d d  memoranda  !  What  do  I  care  if 

they  do  hang  him  !     That  he  should  presume  to  know  the  law* 


NEW  ISSUES   BETWEEN  OLD   ALLIES.  ,     &) 

of  honor  for  gentleman  or  lady.  He  deserves  to  be  hanged  for 
that,  if  nothing  else.  Ho  !  there,  Waldron." 

And  ringing  his  hell  furiously,  our  excellent  colonel  entered 
upon  the  duties  of  his  toilet. 

Meanwhile,  the  business  of  the  day  Avas  fairly  begun  in  the 
American  camp,  and  within  the  lines  of  the  garrison.  By  a  plan 
previously  agreed  upon  between  General  Leslie  of  the  one,  and 
General  Greene  of  the  other  army,  the  British  column  was  to  be 
in  motion  at  the  firing  of  the  morning  gun,  withdrawing  from  the 
lines,  near  Shubrick's  farm,  and  moving  through  the  city  to  the 
wharves.  At  the  same  moment,  the  advance  of  the  Americans, 
under  General  Wayne  —  who  had  been  approaching  from  Ash 
ley  Ferry,  where  Greene's  army  lay  —  was  to  follow  slowly 
upon  their  footsteps,  until  the  city,  abandoned  by  the  one, 
should  be  fully  occupied  by  the  forces  of  the  other.  The  fleet 
of  the  British,  more  than  three  hundred  sail,  lay  at  anchor  in  the 
roruls,  stretching,  in  a  beautiful  crescent,  from  Fort  Johnson  to 
Five  Fathom  Hole.  "  It  was  a  grand  and  pleasing  sight,"  says 
old  Moultrie,  who  accompanied  Greene  in  his  triumphal  entry. 
Not  less  pleasing  to  the  war-worn  and  returning  patriots,  and  the 
brave  glorious  dames,  who  cheered  them  in  their  weary  strug 
gle,  was  the  progress  of  the  troops  of  the  conqueror,  sullenly 
retiring  from  their  places  of  pleasure  and  pasturage.  The  win 
dows,  balconies,  housetops,  in  all  the  principal  streets,  were 
crowded  with  happy  smiling  faces,  beholding  with  equal  joy  the 
departure  of  the  one  dynasty,  and  the  reappearance  of  the 
other.  At  an  early  hour  of-  the  day  the  embarkation  of  the 
British  began,  but  it  was  not  till  near  eleven,  A.  M.,  when  the 
rear-guard  began  to  file,  with  measured  steps,  through  the  cen 
tre  of  the  city.  Wayne's  detachment,  consisting  of  three  hun 
dred  light  infantry,  twenty  artillery  with  tAvo  six-pounders,  and 
eighty  of  Lee's  caA^alry,  following  them  at  an  interA^al  of  two 
hundred  yards  only,  constituted  the  advance  of  the  American 
army.  It  AVHS  a  novel  situation  for  both  parties  to  approach  to 
such  propinquity  yet  keep  from  bloAvs ;  and  the  British  evinced 
no  small  feeling  of 'disquiet,  as,  in  the  impatience  of  the  former, 
to  obtain  possession  of  that  city  for  which  they  had  so  long  beeo 
striving,  they  pressed  forward  at  a  pace  which  promised  to  unite 
the  two  armies  in  one  indistinguishable  mass. 


3C  WOODCRAFT. 

"  This  must  not  be,"  cried  a  British  officer,  riding  up  to  the 
head  of  the  Americans ;  "  you  are  too  fast  upon  us,  gentlemen 
—  you  press  upon  us  too  closely." 

The  American  general  was  compelled  to  call  a  halt  —  and 
then  the  shouts  rose  from  the  housetops  and  the  balconies,  while 
trumpets  blared,  and  a  thousand  palmetto  banners  were  flung 
out  in  air  as  the  cry  went  up  — 

"  Welcome,  welcome  home,  brave  hearts !  God  bless  you. 
gallant  gentlemen !" 

"  How  the  brutes  howl !"  muttered  Moncrieff  to  one  who  at 
that  moment  jogged  his'  elbow.  "All !  is  it  you,  M'Kewn  ?  You 
arc  just  in  time  to  say  farewell." 

"  But  I  shall  not  say  it,  sir,"  was  the  reply,  in  a  tone,  and 
with  a  manner  which  at  once  drew  upon  the  speaker  the  aston 
ished  attention  of  the  British  officer. 

"  Eh  !  what's  the  matter  now  ?" 

"  Read  that  at  your  leisure,  Colonel  Moncrieff,"  said  M'Kewn, 
handing  him  a  billet  where  he  stood,  curbing  his  chafing  steed, 
beneath  a  low  balcony  near  Chalmers,  in  Meeting  street.  Mon 
crieff'  took  the  paper,  and  proceeded  to  open  it  on  the  spot. 

"  It  will  teach  you,  sir,"  continued  M'Kewn,  "  that  you  were 
never  more  my  tool  than  when  you  thought  me  yours  !" 

With  these  words  he  disappeared  within  the  dwelling  before 
which  the  scene  took  place.  Moncrieff,  astonished,  looked  about 
him,  but  not  seeing  the  speaker,  he  turned  to  the  billet.  In  a 
moment  his  eyes  glittered  with  sudden  rage,  and  in  the  next  in 
stant  the  voice  of  M'Kewn  from  the  balcony  above  gave  new 
impulse  to  his  fury. 

"Rather  a  new  feature  in  the  history,  Colonel  Moncrieff!" 

"  Ha  !  villain,  but  you  shall  not  escape  me  !"  and,  thus  speak 
ing,  he  dashed  up  to  the  balcony,  which,  on  horseback  as  he 
was,  his  drawn  weapon  might  have  reached.  But  the  side  walks 
were  covered  with  spectators,  who  were  not  disposed  to  give 
way,  and  one  of  these,  an  old  man  with  a  great  white  beard,  but 
sturdy  and  fearless,  grasped  the  bridle  of  the  horse  and  forced 
him  back.  At  the  same  moment,  Major  Barry  hurried  forward, 
threw  himself  between,  and  drew  Moncrieff  away.  The  proces 
sion  was  again  in  motion. 

"  What  are  you  at,  Moncrieff?  —  this  will  never  do.     A  single 


NEW    ISSUES    jJETWEEN   OLD    ALLIES.  37 

rashness  will  bring  their  whole  force  upon  us,  and  three  fourths 
of  our  army  are  already  embarked  ?" 

"D — n  thg  scoundrel!"  was  the  exclamation  of  Moncrieff  as 
he  suffered  himself  to  be  led  away.  "  I  would  give  fifty  guineas 
for  a  chance  at  his  ears  !"  and,  glaring  as  he  spoke,  like  a  hyena, 
at  the  balcony  where  M'Kewn  stood,  the  centre  of  a  crowd  of 
men  and  women,  he  was  answered  by  a  grin  from  his  former 
•illy  which  added  a  hundred-fold  to  his  vexation.  The  con 
course  behold  this  singular  scene,  and  many  of  them  heard  the 
language  which  the  British  colonel  had  employed.  The  circum 
stance  raised  M'Kewn  inconceivably  in  their  estimation.  The 
man  who  had  provoked  the  ire  of  Moncrieff,  was  necessarily,  in 
that  period  and  place,  a  patriot.  But  the  procession  moved  on, 
and  the  parties  were  soon  separated. 

The  clamors  increased.  The  trumpets  rang  forth  more  merry 
peals.  As  the  rich  scarlet  uniforms  of  the  British  disappeared 
into  Broao  street,  great  festoons  were  swung  across  Meeting, 
which  they  had  left,  and  the  crowds  increased  in  the  balconies. 
Then,  as  Wayne  pressed  forward  with  his  blue  coats,  in  double 
quick  time,  the  shouts  went  up  in  redoubled  peals.  Rolled  on 
ward  the  solemn  artillery  —  galloped  forward  the  gay  horsemen 
of  Lee's  squadron — while  the  rattle  of  drums  in  the  distance 
announced  the  gradual  approach  of  the  main  army  of  the  Ameri 
cans.  At  3  P.  M.,  the  rear-guard  announced  the  approach  of 
General  Greene  ;  the  governor  of  the  state,  Mathews  ;  with  the 
council  of  state  ;  closely  followed  by  General  Gist  and  the 
brave  old  Moultrie,  and  accompanied  by  a  noble  civic  proces 
sion.  This  cortege  halted  in  Broad  street,  opposite  the  spot  now 
occupied  by  the  Bank  of  South  Carolina,  and  the  shouts  of  wel 
come  which  hailed  the  appearance  of  the  defenders  of  the  coun 
try,  announced  the  final  embarkation  of  the  foe.  Trumpets 
sounded  merrily  —  drums  rolled  from  a  hundred  conspicuous 
points,  and  the  cannon  belched  forth  their  mighty  thunders,  in 
echo  to  the  general  voice  of  public  thanksgiving. 


88  WOODCRAFT. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

PLOTS    ALL    ROUND    THE    TABLE. 

THE  day  passed  off  in  pleasurable  excitements  which  did  n.?f 
end  with  the  night.  An  illumination  followed,  and  every  hou.*.? 
was  thrown  wide  for  the  reception  of  friends  and  visitors.  The 
military  bands  were  in  full  requisition;  and  the  merry  violin, 
sounding  from  this  or  that  great  house,  in  almost  every  street  of 
the  city  denoted  the  extempore  dancing-party,  and  the,  joyful 
reunion  of  long  separated  friends  and  dear  ones.  Formality 
interposed  to  mar  none  of  the  conviviality.  There  were  no 
tedious  ceremonials.  The  strangers  were  known  friends,  and 
successful  valor,  and  unquestioned  patriotism,  were  to  be  honored 
and  rewarded.  There  had  been  little  time,  and  less  means,  i'oi 
any  stately  ceremonials.  Invitations  had  not  been  given  out, 
but  were  commonly  understood ;  and  every  gentleman  knew 
that  he  was  welcome  at  every  whig  mansion.  Doors  everywhere 
were  thrown  wide,  and  the  gay  cavalier  passed  from  one  to 
another  dwelling,  sure  to  find  in  all  an  attraction  and  a  welcome 

It  was  at  one  of  these  dwellings,  in  Broad  street,  that  Mrs. 
Evcleigh  was,  for  the  evening,  an  honored  guest.  A  consider 
able  party  had  assembled,  when  General  Greene  made  his  ap 
pearance  with  his  suite.  Moultrie  came  soon  after,  with  good- 
natured  visage,  looking  the  very  personification  of  peace  and 
good-will  to  men.  There  were  stately  cavaliers  in  train  from 
Virginia,  Maryland,  and  Delaware  —  the  old  North  state  was 
honorably  represented  in  more  than  one  tall  and  portly  soldier, 
while  Georgia  had  two  or  three  handsome  blue-eyed  and  round- 
faced  youths,  following  the  wake  of  th?.  fiery  Wayne.  The 
assemblage,  hastily  conceived  and  promiscuously  brought  to 
gether,  was  nevertheless,  comparatively,  a  brilliant  one.  Wo 
do  not  propose  to  describe  it  more  particularly. 

It  was  while  the  rooms  were  most  crowded,  that  Mrs.  Eve- 
leigh  wa$  suddenly  surprised  by  the  entrance  of  M'Kewn  whom 


PLOTS  ALL  ROUND  THE  TABLE.  39 

tike  had  known  only  as  the  associate  of  Moncrieff,  and  by  tLe 
memoranda  winch  she  still  held  in  her  possession.  lie  ap 
proached  the  hostess,  Mrs.  W ,  with  the  easy  assurance  of 

»oiie  who  has  no  doubt  of  his  reception.  Mrs  Eveleigh  watched 
curiously  to  see  what  that  reception  would  be.  To  her  increased 
surprise,  she  found  it  affable  in  the  extreme.  M'KeAvn  was  next 
seen  among  the  gentlemen.  With  these,  also,  he  seemed  to 
enjoy  an  excellent  understanding.  Her  surprise  underwent  still 
further  increase,  as  she  discovered  in  the  persons  with  whom  he 
seemed  most  at  home,  none  but  un questionable  patriots.  By  one 
of  these  she  saw  him  led  up  to  General  Greene,  and  introduced  : 
a  few  words  were  whispered  in  the  general's  ear  by  the  gentle 
man  who  did  the  courtesy  on  this  occasion,  and  Greene  was  ther 
seen  to  shake  M'Kewn's  hand  with  a  hearty  and  nervous  grasp. 
Good  Mrs.  Eveleigh  knew  not  what  to  think.  She  turned  to  a 
gentleman  who  sat  beside  her,  whom  she  well  knew,  and  asked  : 

"Who  is  that  person  just  introduced  to  General  Greene  —  he 
to  whom  General  Moultrie  is  now  speaking  ?" 

"His  name  is  M'Kewn  —  he  is,  or  was,  a  Scotch  merchant 
here,  but  I  believe  he  has  declined  business  recently.  He  is  a 
man  of  substance." 

"  The  general  seems  to  view  him  with  favor." 

"  Well  they  may,  if  all's  true  that  is  said  of  him.  He  is  one 
of  the  few  Scotchmen  who  have,  been  with  us  during  the  war. 
He  was  one  of  the  addressers  of  Sir  Henry  Clinton,  but  his  os 
tentatious  loyalty  was  only  employed  as  a  cover  for  his  revolu 
tionary  principles.  He  has  been  one  of  the  spies,  in  part,  upon 
the  garrison,  and  has  frequently  served  Marion  with  information 
of  the  state  of  affairs." 

"  His  being-  a  Scotchman,  yet  a  spy  for  us,  does  not  speak 
much  for  principle  of  any  kind.  I  suppose  he  feathered  his  nest 
by  it." 

"  Ah  !"  with  a  shrug,  "we  must  not  be  too  scrupulous  about 
the  quality  of  the  tool  we  use  if  we  pick  the  lock  with  it." 

"  Perhaps  not  :  the  necessity  of  the  case  is  to  be  considered, 
surely.  But  is  it  certain  that  Marion  got  any  really  valuable 
information  out  of  him  ?" 

"  That  is  a  problem.  But  you  seem  curious  in  respect  to  this 
person.  Have  you  any  reason  for  it  V1 


40  WOODCRAFT. 

"  I  liavc ;  and  I  must  consult  you  in  regard  to  it  and  him 
But  not  now.  I  sec  that  lie  approaches." 

The  companion  of  Mrs.  Eveleigh  was,  in  that  day,  a  very 
celebrated  Carolina  lawyer,  and,  subsequently,  the  widow  un 
folded  to  him  the  discoveries  which  she  had  made. 

"  I  am  not  at,  all  surprised  at  it,"  was  the  reply.  "  It  is  cer 
tain  that  •  M'Kewn  has  grown  wealthy.  He  is  proprietor  of 
several  large  estates,  or  rather  has  liens  upon  them,  for  advances 
made  at  enormous  interest.  A  foreclosure  of  these  mortgages, 
at  this  moment,  when  there  is  no  money  in  the  country,  would 
give  him  these  estates  at  his  own  prices.  These  papers  which 
you  possess  would  be  fatal  to  him.  But,  unless  he  proceeds  to 
extremities  with  his  debtors,  it  may  be  well  not  to  use  them." 

"  Should  he  not  be  made  to  disgorge?" 

"  Yes,  if  there  be  any  good  whig  who  suffers  by  him.  But  in 
all  probability  most  of  his  debtors  are  tories,  and  they  will 
scarcely  oppose  his  action." 

The  good  widow  shook  her  head. 

"  lie  has  other  victims.  I  know  of  one  at  least,  a  true  patriot 
—  a  strange  creature  —  of  many  eccentricities,  but  of  many  noble 
qualities  and  of  much  real  talent.  He  has  been  the  loser  already 
by  this  M'Kewn.  I  recovered  half-a-dozen  slaves  for  him,  when 
I  got  my  own  out  of  the  hulk." 

"  You  mean  Porgy  ?" 

"Yes!" 

"  Oh,  we  must  save  Porgy  —  and  we  will !  But,  for  the  pres 
ent,  keep  perfectly  quiet.  We  are  yet  in  the  storm.  Govern 
ment  is  only  nominally  established  —  we  know  not  what  may 
follow;  keep  an  eye  on  the  fellow  —  that  is  enough  for  the 
present  —  and,  with  these  papers,  we  can  bring  him  up  with  a 
short  cord  at  any  moment." 

Enough  of  this  conversation  —  which  took  place  the  day  after 

the  party  at  Mrs.  W 's.     To  that  let  us  now  return.     The 

approach  of  M'Kewn  to  the  place  where  Mrs.  Eveleigh  sat,  fol 
lowed  very  soon  after  the  moment  when  she  discovered  his 
presence  in  the  assembly.  He  appeared  to  see  her  suddenly ; 
but,  we  may  state,  from  our  o\vn  knowledge,  that  his  motive  for 
appearing  in  that  particular  assembly,  that  night,  was  the  result 
of  his  previous  knowledge  that  he  should  be  sure  to  meet  her 


PLOTS    ALL   ROUND    THE   TABLE.  41 

there  He  had  taken  sufficient  pains  to  satisfy  himself  on  this 
point  His  object  in  desiring  to  see  her  should  be  obvious  to 
the  reader.  He  was  deeply  interested  in  knowing  whether  she 
had  possessed  herself  of  the  missing  paper  which  so  greatly 
compromised  him.  His  notion  was  that,  as  a  woman,  she  would 
in  some  way  betray  her  knowledge — by  look,  word,  manner — 
and  thus  enable  him  to  determine  upon  the  necessity  before  him, 
and  the  game  which  he  would  need  to  play.  But  the  Widow 
Eveleigh  was  no  ordinary  woman.  She  was  a  good  whist- 
player,  and  when  you  find  a  good  whist-player  among  women, 
be  sure  that  she  knows  how  to  keep  a  secret.  Her  trumpet 
never  announces  the  number  or  the  value  of  her  trump  cards 

A  smile  and  bow  —  a  look  and  manner  of  the  profoundest 
courtesy  —  mingled  with  that  sort  of  triumphant  pleasure  which 
might  be  supposed  to  appear  in  the  faces  of  all  good  citizens  at 
such  a  moment  —  distinguished  the  address  of  Mr.  M'Kewn,  as 
he  stood  before  Mrs.  Eveleigh.  The  lady  acknowledged  his 
address  with  a  courtesy  sufficiently  decided  to  make  no  revela 
tions.  M'Kewn  took  the  seat  beside  her.  which  her  late  com 
panion  had  just  vacated,  and,  in  the  current  phrase  of  the  hour, 
congratulated  her  on  the  grateful  change  which  the  country  had 
undergone.  She  answered  him  in  a  manner  of  perfect 'good 
faith,  avoiding  with  caje  every  look  or  word  which  the  most 
jealous  nature  might  construe  into  suspicion  or  sarcasm. 

"  It  is  certainly  an  event  at  which  every  good  citizen  should 
rejoice,  Mr.  M'Kewn.  Our  people  have  gone  through  a  terrible 
trial.  They  have  shown  themselves  worthy  of  the  liberties  they 
have  won.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  they  will  now  prove  them 
selves  worthy  to  retain  them." 

"  A  more  difficult  matter.  But  we  must  hope,  my  dear  madam. 
It  is  something  in  proof  of  their  capacity  to  keep,  that  they  have 
shown  the  capacity  to  win.  I  found  you  lately  engaged  iq  a 
somewhat  unpleasant  business.  I  trust  you  were  successful  in 
getting  back  your  negroes." 

"  I  was,  sir." 

"  You  were  then  much  more  fortunate  than  some  of  your 
neighbors.  I  have  much  trouble  with  Col.  Moncrieff  in  remov 
ing  some  of  my  own,  and  was  only  in  part  successful." 

"  Indeed." 


42  \VOODCRAFT. 

"  Yes ;  I  have  lost  a  number,  and  was  quite  satisfied  not  to 
have  lost  all.  The  British  have  had  their  emissaries  all  over 
the  country,  and  some  of  those  creatures,  madam,  were  such  as 
we  should  little  suspect.  When  you  found  me  with  Colonel 
Moncrieff,  I  was  endeavoring  to  procure  some  clews  to  their 
detection,  for  it  is  impossible  but  that  some  of  these  wretches 
will  still  remain  in  the  country." 

"  Were  you  successful  in  your  inquiries,  sir  ?" 

"Not  altogether;  but  I  fancy  I  have  some  clews  in  regard  to 
one  or  more  of  our  neighbors.  You  are  aware,  madam,  that  1 
have  -become  the  proprietor  of  an  estate  near  yours  on  the 
Ashepoo  ?" 

"No,  sir,  I  was  not,  whose,  pray  1" 

"  Gillon's.  I  took  it  for  a  debt ;  shall  send  up  negroes  to 
work  it,  and  hope  to  find  myself  on<3  of  your  neighbors  in  the 
spring,  if  not  before." 

The  lady  bowed  rather  stiffly,  but  said  nothing.  The  \vily 
M'Kewn  construed  her  manner  into  a  confirmation  of  his  suspi 
cions.  If  it  had  been  her  object  to  baffle  his  scrutiny  in  regard 
to  the  missing  paper,  she  had  lost  a  point  in  the  game.  There 
was  a  brief  pause  in  the  conversation,  which  M'Kewn,  at 
length,  resumed  by  returning  to  the  subject  of  his  interview  with 
Moncrieff.  He  told  a  very  pretty  little  story  of  the  ingenious 
processes  by  which  he  had  succeeded  in  recovering  his  negroes, 
and  concluded  by  stating  that  Moncrieff  and  himself  had  quar 
relied  finally. 

"  But  I  had  the  last  word,  Mrs.  Eveleigh,  and  one  that  he 
will  remember.  I  was  compelled  to  bear  his  insolence  while  the 
British  garrison  was  yet  in  possession,  but,  in  the  moment  of  his 
departure,  and  when  he  could  no  longer  exercise  his  power,  I 
gave  him  my  opinion  of  his  character." 

.He  then  told  of  the  final  passage  already  detailed  between 
himself  and  Moncrieff.  The  note  which  he  had  put  into  the 
hands  of  the  latter,  he  described  as  full  of  the  most  stinging  in 
sult.  The  lady  could  not  forbear  the  sarcasm,  which  she  yet 
uttered  very  quietly,  and  with  a  seeming  unconsciousness  of  its 
latent  meaning. 

"  Certainly,  a  very  daring  proceeding,  Mr.  M'Kewn.  But,  if 
I  recollect  rightly,  Wayne  s  advance  was  within  a  hundred 


PLOTS   ALL   POUND   THE   TABLE.  43 

yards  of  you  at  the  moment.  Of  that,  however,  'you  were  un 
aware." 

A  slight  flush  tinged  the  dark  cheeks  of  M'Kewn ;  but  he  an 
swered  calmly. 

"No,  indeed,  Mrs.  Eveleigh  —  I  knew  it  well  enough;  and 
knew  that,  were  it  otherwise,  I  should  have  perilled  my  neck  to 
have  done  what  I  did.  There  would  have  been  no  sense  or 
even  courage  in  speaking  freely,  what  I  thought  of  the  scoun 
drel,  at  a  time  when  I  should  have  no  power  to  contend  with 
him.  I  did  all  that  I  properly  could  in  expressing  my  sense  of 
his  rascality." 

The  lady  appeared  to  hear  him  indifferently.  He  discovered 
this,  and  soon  after  withdrew  from  her  side. 

"Fool !"  thought  Mrs.  Eveleigh,  as  he  moved  away.  "Does 
he  think  to  delude  me  with  his  inventions  ?" 

"  She  has  the  paper!"  muttered  M'Kewn,  at  the  same  moment; 
"  and  now  to  ascertain  when  she  leaves  town." 

His  spies  were  set  accordingly  ;  and  instructed  to  watch  every 
movement  of  the  ./idow.  They  did  their  duty  faithfully.  The 
very  next  day,  the  squatter,  Bostwick,  was  in  attendance  upon 
his  employer 

"  Well,  Bostwick,  have  you  got  the  fellows  1" 

"  Five  of  the  best  bloodhounds  in  the  country.  But  I  must 
have  money  for  'em.  I'm  at  great  expense  in  keeping  'em.  Jest 
simple  meat  and  drink  won't  answer  to  keep  'em  quiet.  You 
must  soak  'cm  and  stuff  'em;  —  ef  you  leave  an  empty  place  in 
•em,  they  begins  to  be  good  and  religious-like,  and  to  talk  about 
sins  and  sich  like  matters." 

"Pshaw!" 

"  It's  mother-truth,  I'm  telling  you.  There's  no  keeping  'em 
properly  sinful  for  your  wants,  onless  I'm  a  drenching  and  stuf 
fing  'cm.  It  is  something's  a-wanting  from  morning  to  night. 
They  wants  everything  they  sees  or  thinks  about,  and  they  say 
they've  a  right  to  all  I  can  git." 

"  B\it  you  forget — you  agreed  with  them  for  a  certain  price." 

"  Yes  !  that  was  the  pay  when  the  work  was  done.  But  I 
was  to  keep  them  in  the  meantime,  you  know,  and  it's  mighty 
hard  work.  They're  all  asleep  now  at  Broddus's,  up  the  path. 
They  was  most  eternally  drunk  last  night,  broke  all  the  win- 


$4  WOODCRAFT. 

:lows,  and  killed  Broddus's  dog  -so  them's  to  be  paid  for. 
Broddus  says  the  windows  is  two  dollars,  and  the  dog  cost  him 
two  guineas." 

"  The  devil !     And  you  expect  me  to  pay  this  fellow  ?" 

"  In  course  —  it's  only  reason  —  seeing  as  how  these  boy.«>  ih  in 
your  keeping." 

"  But  I'll  do  no  such  thing." 

"  You'll  liav'  to,  M'Kewn,  so  it's  no  use  to  kick  agin  it.  They 
will  git  drunk,  and  when  they're  drunk,  they  will  splurge  and 
shine.  There's  no  hendering  'em." 

"  And  you  ?" 

"  Oh  !  I  must  drink  with  them,  you  know— 

"  And  splurge  and  shine  too,  I  suppose ;  Lreak  windows,  kill 
dogs,  and  expect  me  to  square  the  bill." 

"  In  course.  It's  the  life  we  lead,  and  belongs  to  the  business, 
and  one  part  jest  as  much  as  the  other.  The  man  what  sells 
himself  to  the  devil,  must  in  nater  hev'  a  sort  of  devil's  edica- 
tion,  and  must  play  devil's  tricks.  It  keeps  the  hand  i^  lor 
devil's  business." 

"  Well,  it's  some  consolation  that  we  shall  not  have  die  keep 
ing  of  such  rascals  very  long.  This  woman  leaves  town  next 
week." 

"  Which  day  ?" 

"Friday,  I  think — but  we  shall  find  out." 

"  Friday,  a  bad  day  for  a  start.     Hangman's  day." 

"  Yes ;  a  bad  day  for  her,  as  she  will  start  then.     You  will 
set  out  the  day  before,  and  choose  your  place  of  ambush.     Re 
member,   Bostwick,  you  are   not  to  fail.      Your   pay   depends 
upon  it ;  —  the  negroes  you  will   recapture,  depend  upon  it  — 
and  your   neck  depends  upon   it;  for  she  certainly  has  got  th 
paper." 

"I  reckon  it's  your  neck  jest  as  much  as  mine,  M'Kewn,  MO 
you'll  jest  please  to  stop  with  that  sort  of  talking.  Nobody 
likes  to  have  the  rope  and  gallows  constantly  flung  in  his  face, 
jest  when  he's  thinking  of  other  things.  As  for  my  name  on 
the  paper,  it  oughtn't  to  consarn  me  so  much,  seeing  as  how  1 
didn't  put  it  thar.  But  you  did,  and  you  put  your  own  too,  and 
I  reckon  when  they're  h'isting  me  on  the  cross-trees,  they'll  be 
swinging  you  off  to  make  room.  Ef  yo.u  wants  me  to  be  reason- 


PLOTS    ALL    ROUND   THE    TABLE.  lj 

able  and  do  your  business,  you'll  jest  stop  with  a  sort  of  talk 
which  makes  my  blood  bile  agin  you." 

"  Well !  well !  since  you're  so  nice  about  this  hanging,  I'll 
say  rope  to  you  no  more." 

"  Better  not  —  t'ain't  zdvisable,  no  how.  It's  better  to  talk  of 
the  business  atween  us.  I  must  have  money  for  the  keeping  of 
the  boys." 

"  Here  is  three  guineas " 

"  Why,  there's  six  on  us." 

"If  there  Averc  sixty,  I  have  no  more  money  about  me  ;' 

"It  takes  pretty  nigh  a  guinea*  a  day  to  keep  'em,  as  tli-y 
expects  to  be  kept." 

"  Damn  their  expectations  !  Do  they  suppose  me  to  be  made 
of  money  ?  You  must  make  them  more  reasonable,  Bostwick, 
for  you»yourself  will  lose  by  it  in  the  end." 

"  I  don't  see." 

"  But  I  do  !  —  make  these  three  .guineas  answer  for  the  week 
and  come  to  rne  at  the  end  of  it." 

"  I'll  be  sure  to  do  that,  whether  the  week's  at  an  eend  01 
not.  Tiger-cats  must  be  fed." 

"Ay,  but  as  tiger-cats  only,  and  not  as  lions.  Remember  tho 
difference,  if  you  please.  You  have  taken  care  that  none  of 
them  know  me  in  the  business  ?" 

"  To  be  sure  ?  make  yourself  easy  thai1'." 

"  Make  yourself  ready,  and  see  that  they  are  quite  sober 
tflieu  the  work  is  done ;  and  when  you  have  got  the  negroes 
and  paper,  push  down  the  Edisto,  where  I  will  contrive  to  meet 
you,  and  get  the  negroes  off  to  the  transport  sloop.  But  we'll 
talk  over  these  particulars  before  you  start." 

Here  the  conference  ended.  We  have  been  content  to  give 
a  sample  of  it  only.  There  was  much  more  said,  unavoidably, 
between  the  parties,  which  it  is  not  necessary  that  we  should 
chronicle.  The  week  passed,  and  M'Kewn  was  called  upon  tc 
disgorge  other  guineas,  and  meet  other  bills  for  damages  done 
by  his  dogs  in  keeping.  Meanwhile,  Mrs.  Eveleigh  was  making 
her  preparations.  On  Wednesday,  not  on  Friday,  she  set  out 
for  her  plantation,  accompanied  by  her  negroes,  and  those  of 
Porgy — her  overseer,  and  her  son — the  latter  a  youth  of 
fifteen.  But  we  shall  introduce  this  lad  more  formally  hereafter, 


WOODCRAFT 


OL.APTER   IX. 

THE   SOLDIER    SURVIVES    HIS    OCCUPATION. 

WE  must  now  change  the  scene  of  operations,  and  introduce 
new  parties  to  our  drama.  Let  us  present  ourselves  at  the  camp 
of  Marion,  at  the  head  of  Cooper  river.  The  reader  will,  per 
haps,  have  observed  that,  in  speaking  of  the  departure  of  the 
British  forces  from  the  city  of  Charleston,  and  the  grand  entry 
of  the  American  troops  at  their  heels,  we  said  nothing  of  the 
militia,  the  rangers,  the  famous  Partisans,  cavalry  and, foot,  of 
Marion,  Sumter,  Maham,  and  the  many  other  brilliant  cavaliers, 
whose  sleepless  activity,  great  audacity,  and  frequent  successes, 
had,  perhaps  more  than  any  other  influence,  kept  alive  the 
hopes  and  maintained  the  cause  of  liberty  in  Carolina,  at  a  pe 
riod  when  Fate  seemed  to  have  decreed  the  utter  subjugation 
of  the  country  by  the  enemy. 

The  fact  is,  none  of  these  gallant  spirits  were  permitted  to  be 
present  at  the  reoccupation  of  the  metropolis  by  the  patriot 
army !  They  had  shared  the  usual  fortune  of  modest  merit ; 
had  served  their  purpose,  and  had  survived  their  uses.  The 
work  done,  the  game  won,  they  had  been  thrown  aside,  as  the 
orange  sucked  of  its  contents,  with  no  more  scruple  or  concern. 
It  will  scarcely  be  believed,  but  such  is  the  fact,  that  the  militia 
of  the  country  were  especially  denied  the  privilege  of  being 
spectators  of  the  departure  of  that  enemy  against  whom  none 
had  battled  more  ceaselessly,  more  fearlessly,  or  with  better  suc 
cess,  than  themselves.  It  might  have  been  that  they  were  too 
nude  to  be  seen  on  such  a  brilliant  occasion.  They  were,  verily, 
very  nigh  to  utter  nakedness.  They  were  mostly  in  rags. 
Their  rents  of  garment  were  closed  by  bandages  of  green  moss. 
Their  shoulders  and  hips  were  thus,  in  like  manner,  padded,  as 
a  protection  against  abrasion  by  the  belts  which  they  had  to 
wear,  bearing  their  arms  and  ammunition.  They  were  commonly 
shoeless  and  hr.tless.  Raw  hides  made  the  shoes  of  many, 


THE  SOLDIER  SURVIVES   HIS   OCCUPATION.  4 

wrought  roughly,  moccasin  fashion,  into  mere  troughs  for  the 
feet,  the  seams  running  down,  and  gathering  up  the  edges  of  the 
leather,  from  the  instep  to  the  toes.  A  fragment  of  coarse  cot 
ton,  or  a  ragged  handkerchief,  wound  about  like  a  turban,  was 
the  substitute  with  many  for  a  hat ;  while,  with  a  still  greater 
number,  the  skins  of  "coon  or  possum,"  untaimed,  untrimmed, 
and  with  the  tail  jauntily  stuck  out  on  the  side,  made  caps  of 
every  pattern,  and  of  fashions  the  most  extraordinary.  Their 
weapons  were  of  similar  diversity ;  from  the  long  ducking  gun 
of  the  planter,  to  the  short  fusee  of  the  German  yager;  the 
heavy  tower  musket  of  George  the  Third,  to  the  long  rifle  of 
the  mountain  rangers  from  that  section  of  the  Apalachian  slopes, 
which  divides,  or  rather  unites,  the  states  of  North  and  South 
Carolina  and  Georgia.  Sabres,  wrought  from  mill-saws,  with 
handles  of  common  wood,  graced  the  thighs  of  half  the  dragoons. 
Such  equipment  would  scarcely  have  made  a  brilliant  show 
ing  in  a  scene  so  brilliant  as  that  witnessed  at  the  recovery  of 
Charleston.  Whether  it  would  not  have  been  most  noble  and 
impressive,  as  illustrating  the  true  worth  and  honest  patriotism 
of  the  partisans,  is  a  matter  which  the  reader  will  take  into 
consideration.  It,  certainly,  was  not  considered  by  the  ruling 
powers  at  that  period,  or  considered  only  as  calculated  to  sub 
tract  from  the  splendors  of  the  triumphal  pageant.  But  the 
reasoning  by  which  the  militia  were  excluded  from  the  sccno 
was  really  of  a  more  offensive  and  objectionable  character.  An 
unworthy  fear  —  a  dread  of  the  power  of  a  body  of  troops  Avho 
were  supposed  to  be  less  easily  brought  under  the  control  of 
authority  —  who  were  known  to  be  dissatisfied,  and  who,  it  was 
felt,  had  just  cause  for  discontent  and  dissatisfaction  —  was  the 
true  secret  of  their  exclusion  from  the  scene.  Badly  armed  ancl 
worse  clad,  fighting  for  years  amid  a  thousand  other  privations, 
without  pay,  and  almost  without  thanks  or  acknowledgment, 
their  achievements  slurred  over  and  disparaged,  as  they  have 
been  too  frequently  since  —  while  the  deeds  of  others  were  exag 
gerated  and  clothed  with  a  false  lustre;  —  it  was  apprehended 
that,  with  the  withdrawal  of  the  enemy,  they  might  be  disposed 
to  assert  their  rights,  and  do  justice  to  themselves.  It  is  possi 
ble  they  might  have  done  so  ;  since  humanity  is  not  to  be  sup 
posed  capable,  always,  of  forbearing  the  exhibition  of  a  just 


48  WOODCRAFT. 

indignation,  under  continued  wrong  and  provocation.  But  the 
possibility  was  still  a  very  faint  one.  They  had  given  no  rea 
son  for  the  suspicion.  Nay,  they  had  been  called  in,  and  kept 
ready,  more  than  once,  under  Marion,  to  suppress  the  appre 
hended  outbreaks  and  insurrections  of  some  of  those  very  con 
tinental  troops  who  had  been  deemed  worthy  to  be  present  at 
the  event  which  they  were  denied  to  behold. 

A  deep  feeling  of  indignation,  naturally  enough,  was  awakened 
among  our  partisans  at  this  ungenerous  exclusion.  But  it  did 
not  declare  itself,  and  could  not,  while  under  the  leaders  who 
.nad  so  nobly  conducted  them  throughout  the  war;  and  now 
they  were  about  to  be  disbanded  —  to  separate  from  their  lead- 
p.rs  —  to  pay  the  last  honors  of  salute  to  the  colors  they  had  so 
often  watched  in  the  heady  storms  and  vicissitudes  of  battle, 
and  to  retire  to  their  homes  —  sucb  homes  as  a  war  of  seven 
years  had  left  them  —  homes  in  ruins;  —  and  to  sink  unhonored 
into  an  obscurity  which  held  forth  little  promise  of  distinction  in 
the  future,  and  still  less  of  improving  fortunes. 

It  was  in  that  tract  of  country,  so  often  distinguished  by  Lis 
active  enterprise,  lying  near  the  head  waters  of  Cooper  river, 
that  Marion  assembled  his  brigade  for  the  purpose  of  dissolving 
his  connection  with  them,  and  their  existence  as  a  military  soci 
ety.  Their  number  did  not  much  exceed  four  hundred  men, 
infantry  and  horse.  At  an  early  hour  of  the  morning,  the  stir 
of  preparation  was  begun,  and,  by  nine  o'clock,  the  rolling 
drums  and  sharp  clamors  of  the  bugle,  summoned  them  to  the 
area  of  a  noble  wood  of  ancient  cedars  in  which  they  were  to 
take  leave  of  their  well-beloved  chieftain.  At  ten,  the  general 
appeared  among  them,  attended  by  all  his  staff.  He  was  re 
ceived  in  deep  silence  —  a.  silence  expressive  of  emotions  too 
solemn  for  shouts  or  words.  His  face,  usually  grave,  wore  a 
still  graver  expression  than  was  its  wont.  His  words,  always 
few,  were  scarcely  more  copious  now,  when  so  much  was  to  be 
said,  even  if  much  was  to  be  left  unspoken.  There  was  more  than 
his  usual  hesitation,  in  his  manner,  as  he  addressed  them.  His 
tones  slighty  trembled,  and  thus  spoke  directly  to  their  own 
feelings.  He  spoke  of  their  long  services,  their  fidelity  to  him 
self  and  country  ;  the  honorable  termination  of  their  labors  in 
the  field, .and  the  necessity  of  now  sinking  back  to  the  no  less 


THE   SOLDIER   SURVIVES   HJ8   OCCUPATION.  49 

honorable  duties  of  the  citizen.  He  assured  them  that,  in  him 
his  old  "soldiers  should  always  find  a  personal  friend,  who,  what 
ever  might  be  the  changes  of  the  future,  could  never  forget  his 
Rympathy  and  connection  with  the  past.  At  the  close,  they 
gathered  about  him,  each  eager  to  seize  his  hand  in  friendly 
gripe.  Nor  was  he  the  man  to  insist  upon  the  dignities 
and  formalities  of  his  position  at  such  a  moment.  The  com 
mander  was  forgotten  in  the  friend,  and  the  leave-taking  was 
such  as  might  be  expected,  at  the  breaking  up  and  dispersion 
of  the  members  of  an  ancient  and  loving  household.  It  was 
midday  before  he  left  them,  riding  slowly  away,  attended  by  his 
suite,  and  escorted  by  a  small  detachment  of  cavalry.  Night 
found  the  scene  of  the  encampment  silent — no  drums  rolled — 
no  trumpets  sounded  —  no  fires  were  lighted.  The  cedars  at 
Watboo,  were  as  lonely,  as  if  they  sheltered  the  graves  only  of 
the  brave  fellows  to  whose  living  heads  they  had  so  long  afforded 
the  most  grateful  protection. 

W<3  can  not  follow  the  fortunes  of  our  scattered  partisans,  pur 
suing,  as  they  did,  a  score  of  different  routes,  each  with  his 
thought  and  heart  turned  upon  some  special  home  and  object. 
Bands  of  fifty  might  be  seen,  on  horse  or  a-foot,  taking  the  route 
for  Orangeburg  ;  other  groups  went  northward,  bound  for  Wac- 
camaw  and  Peedee ;  others  again  moved  down  the  river,  taking 
one  or  other  of  the  two  routes  conducting  to  Charleston,  while 
sundry  squads  sped  directly  southward,  aiming  for  the  Ashley, 
the  Edisto,  the  Ashepoo  and  the  Savannah  rivers ;  from  all  of 
which  regions  they  had  severally  been  drawn. 

We  will  accompany  one  of  these  parties,  a  group  consisting 
of  four  persons,  all  well  mounted,  and,  comparatively  speaking, 
all  well  armed  and  caparisoned.  Two  of  them  in  fact  are  offi 
cers.  One  of  these  is  a  stout,  and  somewhat  plethoric  gentle 
man  ;  full,  and  smooth,  and  florid  of  face,  with  indubitable  signs 
of  a  passion  for  the  good  things  of  this  life.  His  features  are 
marked  and  decisive,  with  a  large  capacious  nose,  a  mouth  rather 
feminine  and  soft,  and  a  chin  well  defined  and  masculine.  But 
for  the  excessive  development  of  the  abdominal  region,  his  figure 
would  have  been  quite  worthy  of  his  face.  He  rode  a  noble 
gray,  of  great  size  and  strength,  good  blood  and  bottom,  and 
with  his  fires  but  little  subdued  by  hard  service. 


SO  WOODCRAFT. 

Beside  this  person,  whose  epaulettes  showed  him  to  have  held 
d  captain's  commission,  rode  a  youth,  who  could  not  have  beer 
more  than  nineteen  years  of  age  He  was  slender  and  tall,  but, 
wiry  and  agile  ;  with  features  rather  pleasing  and  soft,  than  ex 
prcssive ;  and  which  might  have  seemed  somewhat  lacking  in 
manliness  hut  for  the  dark  bronzing  which  they  had  taken  from 
the  sun.  He  was  well  mounted  also,  tolerably  well  dressed,  and 
wore  the  equipment  of  a  cavalry  ensign. 

The  third  person  of  this  party  was  a  man  of  altogether  in 
ferior  appearance,  tall,  rawboned,  and  awkward,  with  features 
harsh  and  irregular,  redeemed  only  by  a  certain  frankness  and 
honesty  of  expression,  which  was  derived  from  a  large  and  gentle 
eye  of  hazel,  and  a  broad  good-natured  mouth.  He  carried  an 
enormous  beard  almost  of  lemon  color,  and  his  hair  streamed 
down  his  shoulders  in  waving  masses,  that  faintly  reminded  you 
of  a  falling  mountain  torrent.  A  stout  chunk  of  a  horse,  of  frame 
not  unsuited  to  his  own,  bore  his  weight.  He  wore  no  other 
uniform  than  the  common  blue  frock,  or  hunting  shirt  of  the  ran 
gers,  a  cap  of  coon  skin,  and,  for  weapons,  a  broadsword,  of  im 
mense  dimensions  as  from  the  primitive  forges  of  a  son  of  Anak, 
and  a  pair  of  common  pistols.  These  weapons,  we  may  add,  he 
could  use  with  the  left  hand  only  —  the  right  being  wanting. 
He  was  one  of  the  few  who,  in  the  miserable  deficiency  of  the 
militia  service,  had  survived  a  hurt  which  had  completely  shat 
tered  the  limb.  His  safety  was  due  to  his  own  stout  heart,  and 
the  unflinching  promptness  of  the  friend  and  superior  whom  he 
followed.  His  right  arm,  torn  into  strips  by  a  brace  of  bullets 
from  a  musket  held  within  a  few  paces,  was  stricken  off  at  his 
entreaty,  by  his  captain,  and  the  bleeding  stump  was  thrust  in 
stantly  into  hot,  seething  tar.  The  wounds  healed,  Heaven 
knows  how,  and  he  recovered.  But  for  this  proceeding  he  must 
have  perished.  At  that  time  there  was  not  a  surgeon  in  Ma 
rion's  brigade,  and  every  hurt  which  affected  the  limbs  of  the 
victim  was  certain  to  end  in  death.  Serge.int  Millhouse,  the 
man  in  question,  became  the  devoted  adherent  of  a  superior, 
who  had  the  firmness  to  comply  with  the  stern  requisition  of  the 
patient,  and  himself  perform  the  cruol  operation,  which  the  suf 
ferer  bore  without  a  groan. 

The  fourth  party  in  this  group  is  a  negro  —  a  native  African 


THE  SOLDIER   SURVIVES   HIS   OCCUPATION.  51 

— -  the  slave  of  the  captain  ;  a  fellow  of  flat  head  and  tried  fidel 
ity  ;  of  enormous  mouth,  hut  famous  as  a  cook;  of  a  nose  that 
scarcely  pretended  to  elevate  itself  on  the  otherwise  plain  sur 
face  of  an  acre  of  face ;  but  of  a  genius  for  stews  that  com 
mended  him  quite  as  much  as  any  other  of  his  virtues  to  the 
confidence  and  regards  of  his  master  Tom  had  a  reputation  in 
camp,  for  his  terrapin  soups,  which  made  him  the  admiration 
of  the  whole  brigade.  He  well  knew  his  own  merits,  and  was 
always  careful  to  be  in  condition  to  establish  them.  The  sump- 
ter  horse  which  he  rode  was  covered,  accordingly,  with  a  variety 
of  kitchen  equipage.  Pots  and  kettles  were  curiously  pendant 
from  the  saddle,  strapped  over  the  negro's  thighs,  or  hanging 
from  his  skirts.  A  sack,  which  exhibited  numerous  angles,  car 
ried  other  utensils,  to  say  nothing  of  pewter  plates,  iron  spoons, 
knives  and  forks,  and  sundry  odds  and  ends  of  bread  and  bacon. 
Tom  was  really  buried  in  his  kitchen  baggage.  But  this  seemed 
to  offer  no  impediment,  nor  to  be  felt  as  an  incumbrance.  He 
kept  close  to  the  heels  of  his  master,  and  had  as  ready  an  ear 
for  all  that  was  spoken,  as  any  of  his  superiors.  He  was  not 
wanting,  also,  in  the  occasional  comment — the  camp-life  having 
done  much  toward  perfecting  the  republicanism  of  all  the  parties. 

Our  company  had  ridden  a  couple  of  hours  from  the  time  of 
their  withdrawal  from  the  "  Cedars,"  and  the  separation  from  their 
ancient  comrades ;  and  had  compassed,  perhaps,  eight  or  ten 
miles  in  this  interval.  Yet,  but  little  conversation  had  taken 
place  among  them,  and,  though  they  rode  together,  they  main 
tained  comparative  silence.  Our  captain,  who  bore  the  name 
of  Porgy,  was  almost  the  only  speaker.  He  was  one,  in  fact, 
who  possessed  a  liberal  endowment  of  the  gift  of  language,  and 
greatly  delighted,  on  ordinary  occasions,  in  his  own  eloquence. 
But  he,  too,  was  influenced,  in  some  degree,  by  the  scene 
through  which  they  had  so  recently  gone;  —  by  thoughts  which 
were  now,  perforce,  required  to  meditate  the  future ;  and  by  the 
sterile  country  through  which  they  were  passing — reaped  by 
the  greedy  sickles  of  the  enemy,  and  sending  up  no  cheerful 
smokes  from  the  homesteads  of  welcoming  friends. 

The  day  itself,  from  being  bright  at  sunrise,  had  become  over 
cast  with  clouds.  Chilly,  without  being  cold,  it  added  to  the 
feeling  of  clpH  whi^h  the  circumstances  of  the  day  had  naturally 


52  WOODCRAFT. 

occasioned  in  their  hearts.  Nor  did  the  solemn,  stately,  and 
efer-murmuring  and  monotonous  pine-forests  through  which 
they  rode — by  no  means  enlivened  by  occasional  tracts  of 
scanty  oak,  stripped  wholly  of  its  foliage,  or  by  the  ruins  of 
ancient  farms  and  decaying  fences — contribute  to  lessen  the 
feeling  of  melancholy  which  sensibly  possessed  our  little  group' 
of  travellers. 

At  length,  however,  Captain  Porgy  broke  the  silence,  as  he 
alone  had  hitherto  done,  by  something  that  sounded  monstrously 
like  an  oath,  but  which  we  may  render  into  more  innocent  lan 
guage. 

"  By  St.  Bacchus,  Lance,  I  must  drink  —  I  must  eat — I  must 
be  guilty  of  some  fleshly  indulgence !  Let  us  get  down  here. 
There  is  a  branch  before  us,  the  water  of  which  I  have  tried 
before.  We  have  still  a  bottle  of  Jamaica.  Tom  must  knock  us 
up  a  fry,  and  we  must  eat  and  drink,  that  we  may  not  grow  stu 
pid  from  excessive  thinking.  If  one  must  think,  its  most  agree 
able  exercise,  to  my  experience,  is  over  toast  and  tankard. 
Tom,  'light,  old  fellow,  and  get  out  your  cookables.  Lance,  you 
carry  that  Jamaica ;  I  would  see  if  it  loses  any  of  its  color  in 
these  dark  and  drowsy  times." 

The  command  was  instantly  obeyed :  though,  to  descend  out 
of  his  piles,  to  fling  off  straps  to  which  hung  pot  and  kettle, 
bread  and  bacon,  &c.,  was,  to  Tom,  a  sort  of  performance  which 
needed  equal  discretion  and  deliberation.  He  was  extricated, 
at  last,  though  only  with  the  assistance  of  Sergeant  Millhouse ; 
and,  having  relieved  his  horse  of  its  luggage,  he  adjusted  him 
self  to  his  tasks.  Very  soon,  his  box  of  tinder,  flint  and  steel, 
were  in  requisition,  and  he  had  kindled  a  pleasant  blaze  within 
twenty  steps  of  the  running  water.  To  this  Captain  Porgy,  ac 
companied  by  Lance,  his  lieutenant — Lance  Frampton  being 
the  full  name  —  had  at  once  proceeded;  and  already  had  he 
brightened  the  clear,  but  rather  unmeaning  complexion  of  the 
water,  with  the  rich,  red  liquid  of  Jamaica.  A  pewter  mug,  of 
moderate  dimensions,  sufficed  for  the  embraces  of  the  separate 
fluids ;  and  having  first,  with  his  nostrils,  inhaled  the  fragrance 
of  the  rum,  our  captain  held  it  to  his  eye  for  a  moment,  survey 
ing  it  with  a  glance  of  decided  complacency,  before  lie  carried 
it  to  his  lips.  He  drank,  smacked  his  lips  with  a  sense  of  cor 


THE   SOLDIER  SURVIVES   HIS   OCCUPATION.  53 

dial  satisfaction,  and  offered  the  cup  and  bottle  to  Frampton. 
But  the  latter  declined  the  liquor  respectfully,  and,  stooping  to 
the  brooklet,  drank  directly  from  the  running  stream.  Mill- 
house,  the  sergeant,  was  more  .easily  persuaded,  and  Captain 
Porgy,  as  he  beheld  him  pour  with  liberal  hand  into  the  cup, 
might  have  entertained  some  reasonable  doubts  of  the  propriety 
and  wisdom  of  suffering  a  man  with  but  one  hand  to  adjust  his 
own  measures,  particularly  where  the  source  of  supply  was  so 
distressingly  small.  But  he  suffered  the  soldier  to  help  himself, 
and,  retiring  a  few  paces,  let  himself  down  —  no  easy  matter — 
at  the  foot  of  a  pine,  where  the  straw  of  previous  seasons  afforded 
a  couch  of  tolerable  softness.  Hither,  when  the  horses  were 
fastened,  came  the  ensign,  Frampton,  while  the  sergeant,  Mill- 
house,  bestowed  himself  more  particularly  upon  Tom,  the  cook. 
A  hoarse  sigh,  that,  issuing  from  a  plethoric  chest,  might  have 
been  held  a  groan,  betrayed,  in  Captain  Porgy,  a  more  than 
usually  serious  sense  of  his  situation.  The  ensign,  who  had 
thrown  himself  down  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  tree,  modestly 
remarked  — 

"  I  think,  Captain  Porgy,  you  are  more  sorrowful  than  I  ever 
saw  you  before.  Indeed,  I  can't  say  that  I  ever  saw  you  sor 
rowful  till  now." 

"  Well :  quite  likely,  Lance  ;  —  I  have  reason  for  it.  Othello's 
occupation's  gone." 

"  Othello,  captain?     Was  the  gentleman  a  soldier?" 

"Ay,  indeed,  a  Moorish  soldier!  —  a  blackamoor — a  sort  of 
negro  —  of  whom,  it  is  quite  likely,  you  have  never  heard  —  of 
whom  you  will,  probably,  hear  no  more  than  I  shall  tell  you. 
He  was  a  famous  fighter  in  his  day ;  but  there  came  a  day  when 
his  wars  were  ended — like  ours  —  and  then  ! — " 

"  And  then  ?" 

"  He  swallowed  his  sword  through  an  artificial  mouth !" 

"  What  ?     How  ?     Swallowed  his  sword  ?" 

"  In  other  words,  cut  his  throat !" 

"  What !  because  he  could  no  longer  cut  the  throats  of  othei 
people  ?" 

'•  Partly  that — and  reason  enough,  too  !  Throat-cutting  was 
his  business.  Nobody  ought  to  survive  his  business.  Now,  if  I 
were  quite  sure  that  my  wars  were  wholly  ended  —  that  I  should 


54  WOODCRAFT. 

never  be  permitted  to  cut  throats  again,  according  to  law— 
I  should  certainly  request  of  you  the  favor,  Lance,  as  an 
act  of  friendship,  to  pass  the  edge  of  your  sabre  across  my 
jugular." 

"  I  should  do  no  such  thing,  Captain  Porgy." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  you  would — that  is,  if  I  particularly  requested  it; 
pnd  I  don't  know  but  I  shall  have  to  do  so  yet.  You  will  cer 
tainly  oblige  me,  Lance,  when  the  necessity  shall  arrive,  and 
when  I  make  the  entreaty." 

"  I  don't  think,  captain.     No  !     I  could  never  do  it." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  will ;  but  the  necessity  is  not  apparent  yet, 
since  my  nose  tells  me  that  Tom  has  still  some  material  left,  by 
which  my  throat  shall  find  agreeable  employment.  I  suppose, 
so  long  as  one  may  tickle  his  throat  with  fish,  flesh,  and  fowl, 
and  soothe  it  with  Jamaica,  he  may  still  endure  a  life  relieved 
of  its  usual  occupations.  But,  this  is  the  doubt,  Lance.  HOAV 
long  shall  there  be  fish,  and  flesh,  and  fowl,  and  Jamaica  ?  I 
ain  a  ruined  man !  I  go  back  to  the  ancient  homestead  of  my 
fathers,  to  find  it  desolate.  Negroes  gone,  lands  under  mort 
gage,  and  not  a  rooster  remaining  in  the  poultry-yard,  to  crow 
me  a  welcome  to  dinner.  Such  a  prospect  does  not  terrify  you. 
You  have  not  been  reared  and  trained  to  position,  and  artificial 
wants.  You  are  young,  just  at  the  entrance  of  life,  my  dear 
boy,  and  can  turn  your  hand  to  a  thousand  occupations,  each  of 
which  shall  supply  your  wants.  Such  is  not  the  case  with  me. 
At  forty-five,  neither  heart  nor  head,  nor  hand,  possesses  any 
such  flexibility.  A  seven  years'  apprenticeship  to  war  has  left 
no  resources  in  peace.  Othello's  occupation's  gone!  —  gone! 
There  is  little  or  nothing  now  that  I  should  live  for; — family, 
wife,  friends,  fortune  —  I  have  none  ;  —  loneliness,  poverty,  deso 
lation  —  these  are  the  only  prospects  before  me !" 

This  was  spoken  with  so  much  real  mournfulness,  that  it  com 
pelled  the  warmest  sympathies  of  the  youthful  hearer,  who,  in 
spite  of  many  eccentricities  on  the  part  of  the  speaker,  which  he 
failed  to  understand,  and  a  strong  and  active  selfishness,  which 
he  comprehended  well  enough,  had  yet  a  real  affection  for  his 
superior.  He  crept  near  to  Porgy,  and  said  — 

"  Oh  !  it  can't  be  as  bad  as  all  that,  captain.  You  have  many 
friends.  There's  General  Marion,  and  there's  our  colonel,  and 


THE   SOLDIER  SURVIVES   HIS   OCCUPATION.  5& 

many  besides ;  and  you've  got  a  fine  plantation,  and  I  reckou 
some  of  your  negroes  are  left " 

"  Tom  only  !  The  last  accounts  reported  that  every  hair  of  a 
negro  was  gone  —  all  carried  off  by  the  tories,  I  suppose,  or  the 

British.  As  for  the  plantation,  it's  under  mortgage  to  a  d d 

shark  of  a  Scotchman  ;  and,  even  if  it  were  riot,  it  would  be 
worth  nothing  without  the  slaves.  I  tell  you,  boy,  I  see  no 
remedy  but  to  get  my  throat  cut  like  a  gentleman,  and  die  in 
my  epaulettes  and  boots." 

"  Oh  !  something  will  be  sure  to  turn  up,  captain.  Remember 
what  old  Ben  Brewer  used  to  say  when  anything  misfortunate 
had  happened  —  'Look  up,  I  say,  —  God's  over  all!'  God's 
your  friend,  captain." 

"  Well,  in  truth,  Lance,  I've  so  seldom  called  upon  him, 
among  my  other  friends,  that,  perhaps,  he  might  do  something 
for  me  now." 

The  irreverence  was  rebuked  by  his  young  companion  in  tlio 
following  terms  — 

"  Oh,  captain !  don't  talk  so  !  He's  been  doing  for  you  all 
along  !  Who  has  taken  care  of  you  till  now,  when  you're  forty- 
five  years  old  1  Who  saved  you  so  often  in  fight?  —  and  that's 
another  reason,  captain,  why  you  should  have  faith  in  his  mer 
cies.  I  reckon.  God  always  puts  in,  at  the  right  time,  to  save 
people,  if  so  be  they  only  let  him  !  It's  we  that  won't  be  saved, 
and  that's  continually  fighting  against  his  mercies." 

"  You  talk  like  an  oracle,  Lance  !  One  thing's  certain,  that 
at  times,  when  a  fellow  discovers  that  he  can  do  nothing  to  save 
himself,  the  best  philosophy  is  to  confide  in  powers  superior  to 
his  own.  Of  one  thing,  rest  assured,  my  lad  —  I  shall  never 
hurry  my  own  case  to  judgment.  I  should  fear  the  judge's 
charge  would  be  against  me,  let  me  plead  as  I  might,  and  be  his 
mercies  as  great  as  I  could  hope  for.  It  will  be  always  time 
enough  to  end  one's  own  history ;  and  since  I've  escaped  the 
British  bullet  and  bayonet,  during  a  seven  years'  service,  I  shall 
certainly  not  use  either  to  my  own  disquiet.  The  smell  of  Tom's 
rry,  makes  my  philosophy  more  cheerful.  It  is,  indeed,  surpris 
ing  how  a  man's  griefs  dwindle  away  toward  dinner  time.  Ho ' 
Tom  !  are  you  ready  ?" 

"Jos'  ready,  maussa,"  was  the  prompt  reply  of  the  cook. 


56  WOODCIiAFT. 

"  Let  us  eat,  Lance.  I  see  that  Millliouse  has  his  cleaver  out 
already.  Help  me  with  an  arm,  my  boy,  while  I  rise  to  a  sit 
ting  posture.  I  am  no  small  person  to  heave  up  into  perpen 
dicularity." 

Leaving  our  little  group  of  partisans,  for  a  while,  let  us  return 
to  the  widow  Eveleigh,  on  her  route  homeward. 


CHAPTER  X. 

AMBUSCADE. 

MRS.  EVELEIGH,  as  we  have  already  stated,  left  the  city  for 
her  plantation  on  Wednesday,  instead  of  Friday.  The  change 
in  her  arrangements,  called  for  a  corresponding  change  in  those 
of  M'Kewn,  and  the  squatter,  Bostwick.  The  latter,  with  his 
five  confederates,  or  employees,  took  their  departure  on  Tuesday ; 
and,  well  knowing  the  route  to  be  pursued  by  the  widow,  sped 
rapidly  for  the  Edisto,  in  the  neighborhood  of  which  river,  they 
proposed  to  plant  their  ambush.  Their  departure  was  quite  a 
relief  to  M'Kewn,  as  it  greatly  lessened  the  expense  to  which 
he  was  necessarily  subject,  so  long  as  they  remained  in  idleness, 
and  in  a  vicinity  so  full  of  temptations. 

We  need  not  note  their  progress.  Conducted  by  Bostwick, 
they  were  not  long  in  reaching  their  hiding-places,  and  in  tak 
ing  such  a  position,  west  of  the  Edisto,  as  would  enable  them 
to  fasten  upon  their  prey  at  a  bound.  The  excellent  lady,  un 
suspicious  of  danger,  set  forth  after  breakfast  on  Wednesday 
morning,  in  her  great  family  carriage  drawn  by  four  stout  horses. 
The  lumbering  vehicle  of  that  period  need  not  be  particularly 
described.  It  is  very  well  known  that  the  carriages  of  that  day 
were  huge,  unsightly  and  heavy  machines,  very  solid  structures 
of  wood  and  iron,  which,  even  when  entirely  empty,  were  a  suf 
ficient  burden  for  their  teams.  When  occupied  by  our  widow, 
her  son,  a  youth  of  sixteen,  a  maid-servant  of  no  small  dimen 
sions,  sundry  trunks,  bags  and  boxes,  filling  up  every  foot  of 
space — and  condemned  to  a  lonely  progress  over  rough  and 


AMBUSCADE.  57 

heavy  roads,  it  was  inevitable  that  its  movements  must  be  slow. 
Accordingly,  it  made  no  more  rapid  progress  than  the  plantation 
wagon  which  accompanied  it,  and  in  which  several  of  the  ne 
groes  found  a  place.  One  or  two  of  these  were  mounted  on 
mules,  while  others,  the  more  vigorous,  walked,  easily  keeping 
up  with  the  carriage. — Among  these  were  the  half-dozen  ne 
groes,  belonging  to  Captain  Porgy,  whom,  as  we  have  seen,  the 
widow  was  so  fortunate,  and  so  firm,  as  to  recover,  with  her  own, 
from  the  clutches  of  Moncrieff.  The  overseer  of  Mrs.  Eveleigh, 
Fordham,  led  the  cortege,  mounted  on  a  clumsy,  but  powerful, 
sumpter  horse,  and  armed  with  the  well-used  long  rifle  of  the 
country.  He. carried,  besides,  in  holsters,  a  pair  of  large  but 
common  pistols.  Young  Eveleigh  was  similarly  armed.  He 
rode,  sometimes  with  his  mother  in  the  carnage,  but  occasionally 
left  the  vehicle  for  a  little  '  marshtacky,'  or  poney,  of  Spanish 
breed,  such  as  is  to  be  found  very  commonly  about  the  parishes 
of  South  Carolina  to  this  day  —  a  light,  hardy,  lively  creature, 
very  small,  but  of  great  endurance.  Young  Eveleigh  was  a 
tall,  handsome  and  vigorous  youth,  full  of  spirit,  of  a  strong  will 
and  resolute  character. 

Properly  armed,  the  party,  including  the  negroes,  might  have 
laughed  at  any  demonstration  which  could  be  made  by  the  force 
under  Bostwick ;  but,  unsuspicious  of  danger,  they  had  taken 
no  precautions  against  it,  and  travelled  as  carelessly  along  as  if 
their  course  lay  through  the  pathways  of  the  peaceful  city. 
Sometimes,  Fordham  and  young  Evdeigh  rode  together  ahead ; 
and  other  moments  they  were  to  be  seen  about  the  wagon  and 
negroes,  in  the  rear;  and,  not  unfrequently,  when  riding  ahead, 
they  were  out  of  sight  both  of  wagon  and  carnage.  Bostwick 
had  made  all  his  calculations  with  due  regard  to  what  he  knew 
of  the  travelling  habits  of  the  people  or^  such  occasions.  The 
party  had  been  suffered  to  cross  the  Edisto  at  Parker's,  and  had 
made  some  progress  upward  and  toward  the  Ashepoo,  when  the 
hour  for  "  nooning"  approached.  Of  course,  carriage  and  wagon 
were  both  well  provided  with  the  necessary  supplies  of  provis 
ions  ;  as  the  lodging  houses  along  the  route,  few  at  any  time, 
and  with  long  intervals,  had  been  very  generally  broken  up  dur 
ing  the  Mrar,  upon  any  but  the  great  thoroughfares. 

Fordham  and  young  Eveleigh  had  ridden  forward  to  find  a 

3* 


58  WOODCRAFT. 

branch  —  a  stream  of  water  —  or  a  spring,  at  which  the  party 
might  stop.  A  turn  of  the  road  had  taken  them  out  of  sight 
of  the  carriage.  The  region  was  well  wooded;  and  the  vehicles 
were  passing  through  a  defile  of  the  forest,  more  than  commonly 
dense.  They  had  just  passed  an  ancient  Clubhouse,  such  as 
may  be  found,  to  this  day,  throughout  the  parish  country  of 
South  Carolina;  where,  after  the  day's  hunt,  the  gentry  of  the 
surrounding  district  reassembled  for  dinner.  The  house  had 
been  disused  for  this  purpose,  during  the  war,  and  was  now  in 
ruins.  The  planks  had  been  torn  off  from  the  frame,  which 
stood  up  an  almost  naked  skeleton.  The  floor  was  gone  —  the 
roof  could  afford  no  shelter.  Weeds  and  grass,  still  in  rankest 
luxuriance,  environed  the  decaying  fabric,  in  which,  no  doubt, 
during  the  heats  of  summer,  the  serpent  and  the  wild-cat  found 
frequent  harborage.  Just  beyond  this  spot,  a  heavy  timbered 
forest  spread  away  to  the  south,  over  a  low,  mucky  tract,  which 
the  deer  and  the  bear  could  alone  inhabit.  The  road  wound 
along  the  edges  of  this  low  region,  pursuing  the  higher  grounds. 
It  was  while  the  carriage  was  passing  through  the  dark  shadows 
of  this  defile,  that  it  was  suddenly  arrested.  The  horses  were 
made  rudely  to  recoil,  and  wheeled  about ;  the  vehicle  was  thrust 
directly  across  the  road  so  as  fairly  to  close  it  up.  The  shock 
awakened  Mrs.  Eveleigh  from  a  drowsy  mood,  while  the  cry  of 
the  servant-maid  who  accompanied  her,  warned  her  of  some 
event  wliich  required  her  attention.  At  first,  she  fancied  that 
the  horses  were  unruly ;  but  she  was  soon  undeceived.  The 
ivords  of  the  negro-girl — 

"  Oh  !  missis,  look  a'  dem  black  looking  man  !     He  da  ketch 
de  horse  by  de  head." 

At  that  moment  the  driver  cried  out  — 
"Hello !  da'  —  wha'  you  gwine  do  wid  my  bosses?" 
He  was  silenced  wifti  a  blow  from  a  bludgeon  delivered  by  n 
hand  which  he  had  not  seen,  and  which  tumbled  him  fairly  from 
his  seat.     Two  or  three  men,  covered  with  masks,  and  dressed 
with  long,  shaggy  black  hair,  through  which  their  wild  dark  eyes 
only  were  visible,  now  appeared  at  the  side  of  the  carriage,  the 
door  of  which  was  torn  open  in  an  instant. 

"  Who  ar«i  you?     What  do  you  mean  by  this  violence?"  de 
manded  the  widow,  looking  rery  pale,  but  speaking  very  firmly. 


AMBUSCADE.  59 

One  of  them  replied  harshly,  seizing  her  by  the  wrist  &s  he 
spoke — 

'  Come  out,  my  good  woman ! — that  we  may  have  a  good 
look  at  your  han'some  visage  !" 

"  I  will  come  out !     Release  me.     I  need  no  help." 

"All  right,  ma'am;  I'm  all  ciwility !"  said  the  fellow,  as  he 
made  way  for  her  to  descend.  The  negro-girl  sat  trembling  in 
the  carriage,  after  her  mistress  had  got  out. 

"  Out  with  you,  Jenny!"  cried  the  spokesman,  taking  the  ser 
vant  by  her  ears,  and  with  so  much  effect  that  siie  screamed 
violently. 

"  Shut  up  your  fish-trap,  you ,"  he  cried,  with  a  terrible 

voice  and  oath,  "  or  I'll  tear  out  your  tongue,  and  eat  it  without 
bread  or  gravy." 

The  threat,  and  the  action  by  which  it  was  accompanied, 
caused  her  to  redouble  her  screams,  and  to  cling  the  closer  to 
the  vehicle;  upon  which,  the  other  jumped  in,  and  tumbled  her 
out  headlong,  as  if  she  had  been  a  bale  of  cotton.  He  then  pro 
ceeded,  Avith  singular  industry,  to  search  the  carriage  :  posses 
sing  himself,  among  other  things,  of  a  richly  inlaid  mahogany 
case,  which  he  drew  from  beneath  the  seat.  By  this  time,  his 
confederates  had  cut  the  traces,  and  freed  the  horses.  The  ser 
vant-girl  continued  her  screams,  until  flung  down,  and  her  mouth 
bandaged  —  an  operation  which  was  performed  by  one  of  the 
HSsailants,  with  the  celerity  of  an  old  practitioner.  The  widow 
Eveleigh,  meanwhile,  stood  silent,  anxious,  breathless,  with  ex 
pectation  and  apprehension,  but  maintaining  a  noble  and  fear 
less  demeanor.  At  this  moment,  a  pistol-shot  was  heard  ahead 
—  then  another,  and  another.  At  the  sound  the  lady  could  not 
suppress  the  murmur — 

"  My  son — -my  son  !     My  God  !  protect  my  son  !" 

She  clasped  her  hands  with  increasing  apprehensions,  while 
the  new  terrors  in  her  face  were  too  strong  for  concealment; 
her  knees  trembled  beneath  her,  and  she  sank  back  for  support 
against  a  tree.  Two  of  the  assailants  had  remained  with  the 
carriage.  These  started  into  activity  as  the  sound  of  the  fire 
arms  reached  them.  They  came  from  the  road  in  front,  along 
which  young  .Eveleigh  and  Fordham  had  ridden.  A  moment  only 
did  the  outlaws  pause ;  then,  simultaneously,  darting  forward 


60  WOODCRAFT. 

they  hurried  in  the  direction  of  the  scene  of  action.  The  wido\n 
watched  them  with  eager  terrors,  as  they  sped  along,  chiefly 
under  cover  of  the  trees,  pursuing  the  roadside,  but  avoid 
ing,  as  much  as  possible,  the  exposure  of  their  persons.  Sud 
denly  she  saw  them  crouch  beneath  opposite  trees,  and,  in  a 
second  or  two  after,  the  tramp  of  a  horse,  at  a  run,  smote  tli oil- 
cars.  At  the  sound,  one  of  them  raised  a  light  carbine  which 
he  carried,  and  which  he  cocked  in  readiness.  He  had  scarcely 
done  so,  when  young  Eveleigh  came  in  sight,  pushing  the  pony 
to  the  utmost.  Then  was  heard  the  cry  of  the  mother  —  at  the 
top  of  her  voice — but  very  faintly,  at  that  distance; — reaching 
the  cars  of  the  banditti  only :  — 

"  Back,  Arthur,  back,  my  son.  Beware  !  beware  !  There  are 
enemies  in  ambush !" 

The  youth  seemed  to  hear,  and  appeared  disposed  to  gather  up 
his  horse :  but  he  was  anticipated  by  the  ambush.  A  shot  was 
fired,  and  the  little  steed  went  down,  forward  on  his  face,  pitch 
ing  the  youth  over  his  head.  The  two  assailants  then  darted 
out  of  their  place  of  hiding,  and  threw  themselves  upon  him  as 
he  was  feebly  endeavoring  to  rise.  He  struggled  as  well  as  he 
could,  being  evidently  somewhat  stunned  by  his  fall ;  but  what 
could  his  unhardened  sinews  avail  in  a  struggle  with  two  ruffians, 
practised  in  all  soils  of  encounter,  with  frames  well  set,  and  in 
the  full  vigor  of  manhood !  While  they  held  him  down,  pre 
paring  to  bind  his  arms,  the  mother  rushed  toward  them,  crying 
aloud  — 

"Spare  him,  spare  my  son,  and  you  shall  have  all  —  all! 
Any  thing  !  only  spare  him  !  Let  him  rise  !" 

She  did  not  wait  to  see  the  effect  of  her  entreaty,  but  pushed 
in  between  the  assailants.  It  was  a  noble  exhibition  of  mater 
nal  courage,  reckless  for  herself,  moved  only  by  the  one  im 
pulse  of  love  and  devotion  to  her  young.  One  of  the  ruffians 
seized  her  and  bore  her  back,  while  the  other  kept  his  knee 
upon  the  breast  of  the  youth. 

"  My  son  !  my  son  !  Spare  him  !  spare  him  !"  she  continued 
to  cry,  "  and  I  will  give  you  everything." 

"  Shut  up,  good  woman,  shut  up !  There's  no  danger,  ef  the 
young  cub  will  only  keep  quiet.  There's  no  harm  done  him 
yit;  and  none  will  happen  to  him  ef  so  be  he  has  sense  enough 


AMBUSCADE.  1)1 

not  to  provocate  us.  I  reckon  lie's  done  some  mischief 
a'ready.  See,  Fire  Dick" — to  his  companion  —  "both  pistols 
is  empty." 

As  he  spoke,  two  follows,  masked  and  bearded  like  himself, 
with  false  hair,  and  great  handkerchiefs  muffling  their  heads  and 
faces,  ran  toward  them  from  above.     To  these,  the  bandit  who 
had  just  spoken  addressed  himself — 
"  Well !     How  goes  it  ]" 

"  Bad  enough  !  Bill  Sykes  is  on  his  back,  and  hasn't  a  word 
for  a  dog.  This  young  bull-pup  has  laid  him  out  with  a  bullet 
through  the  head." 

A  fierce  glance  from  all  parties  was  addressed  to  the  young 
man ;  and,  having  secured  the  prisoners  from  whom  they  had 
most  to  fear,  they  drew  aside  for  a  moment  to  consult. 

"  What   hev'   you  done  with  the  overseer,  Fordham  ?"   de 
nuinded  one  who  seemed  to" be  the  leader,  and  who  was,  in  fact, 
the  squatter,  Bostwick. 
"He's  fast." 

"  You  lievn't  killed  him  ?" 

"  No ;  only  stunted  him  with  a  backstroke  over  the  head  and 
neck,  and  then  tied  him  down  to  a  sapling." 
"  Is  he  safe  ?" 

"  I  reckon  !     He  don't  move,  and  kaint !" 
•'  How  was  iU" 

"  Why,  he  got  down  to  drink  at  the  branch,  and  when  lie  was 
drinking,  Bill  Sykes  jumped  out  of  the  bush,  and  knocked  him 
into  the  water  with  the  butt-eend  of  his  rifle.  As  the  young 
fellow  seed  that,  setting  on  his  -horse,  he  let  fly  at  Bill,  first  one 
shot,  then  another,  though  I  reckon  'twas  the  first  bullet  that 
did  the  thing.  Then  he  wheeled  about,  and  went  off  at  full 
speed.  I  pulled  on  him,  but  'twas  only  a  snap  ;  and  we  had  to 
turn  about,  Sam  and  me,  to  manage  Fordham,  who  had  raised 
himself  up  out  of  the  water,  and  was  aiming  to  get  at  his  horse 
and  holsters,  where  we  saw  he  had  two  pistols.  But  I  gin  him 
a  settler,  side  of  his  head,  which  sprawled  him,  and  Sam  took  up 
his  horse." 

"  Well,  we  must  see  to  business.  Bill  Sykes,  you  say,  wants 
no  help  ?" 

«•  He's  ate  his  last  bacon  !" 


62  WOODCRAFT. 

"Let  him  lie  then,  till  we  see  to  our  work.  We  must  pw 
up  the  niggers,  and  be  off.  There's  not  much  time." 

"Did  you  gut  the  carriage,  BosU"  demanded  one  of  the  fel 
lows. 

"  No  !  there's  nothing  much,  I  reckon." 

"  No  money  ?" 

"Not  that  I  see — but  I  hevn't  looked  in  yet." 

"  I'll  see  to  that,"  said  Fire  Dick,  otherwise  Dick  Nbrfis. 

Each  of  the  parties  darted  off  in  the  direction  of  the  earring* 
and  wagon,  except  Bostwick ;  who,  having  already  quietly  pos 
sessed  himself  of  the  mahogany  box  of  Mrs.  Eveleigh,  which  lu 
had  somehow  contrived  to  conceal  from  all  parties  in  the  bushes 
seemed  to  take  the  further  adventure  quite  coolly.  To  him,  as, 
he  stood,  apparently  meditating,  the  widow  now  advanced.  Hei 
son  lay  bound  and  writhing  beside  the  road. 

"Is  ,your  purpose  plunder]"  she  demanded  of  the  squatter. 
"  Take,  then,  all  that  is  in  the  carriage  and  wagon  —  money, 
goods — but  release  my  son,  and  let  us  go." 

"You've  got  money  in  the  carriage]"  asked  the  squatter. 

"Fifty  guineas  only,  which  you  will  find  in  a  small  mahogany 
box  beneath  the  seat." 

"  Hem  !     Well !     What  else  in  the  box  ?" 

"  Nothing  but  a  few  papers  of  value  to  nobody  but  myself." 

"  We  must  see  to  that !  Do  you  come  with  me.  The  young 
fellow  has  killed  one  of  our  people.  That  must  be  paid  for— 
for,  as  the  Bible  says  — '  life  for  life  !'  " 

"Take  all!"  she  exclaimed,  "all  —  as  I  said  before,  and  let 
us  go." 

"  'Twon't  do  !  We've  got  all  that's  here,  a'ready.  There  must 
be  nore,  ef  you  would  save  the  young  un  from  a  dog's  death." 

"  What,  more  !    How  shall  I  pay  you  1    What  sum  ?    When  ]" 

"  We'll  think  about  that !  But,  jest  now,  look  you,  I  must 
put  a  little  hitch  about  your  arms." 

He  pulled  a  bundle  of  cord  from  his  pocket  as  he  spoke. 

"You  will  not  dare  !"  exclaimed  the  lady,  drawing  herself  up 
with  loathing  and  indignation  in  her  face.  Her  indignation  was 
felt  by  her  son.  The  youth  shrieked  in  fury,  and  writhed  des 
perately  in  his  bmds.  But  the  ruffian  was  unmoved,  and  laid 
his  hand  upon  the  arm  of  the  widow.  At  first  she  recoiled  —  her 


eyes  were  filled  with  such  gleams  of  anger,  as  promised  des 
perate  struggle.  13ut  she  subdued  herself;  feeling  thai  any 
effort  at  resistance  must  only  expose  her  to  worse  indignities. 
With  this  reflection  she  held  out  her  wrists. 

"  Well !  I  call  that  sensible  and  civil,"  cried  the  ruffian  : 
"hut  the  other  way,  ma'ani —  behind  your  back,  ef  you  please. 
You  see,  ef  I  was  to  tie  your  hands  in  front,  you  might  gnav 
through." 

The  calculating  rascal !  Again  the  lady  recoiled  with  a  nat 
aral  feeling  of  loathing  and  indignation  ;  again,  however,  the 
reflection  of  a  moment  caused  her  to  subdue  it. 

"Now,  ma'am,  ef  you  please,"  continued  the  ruffian,  "you'll 
jest  set  down  with  your  back  to  this  sapling.  You  kin  lean 
agin  it,  you  see.  'Twill  be  a  help  to  you." 

She  sat  down  passively,  and  suffered  herself  to  be  fastened  to 
the  tree. 

"  Now,  I'll  jest  warn  you  to  keep  quiet.  'Twill  be  no  use  to 
hellow,  for  there's  nobody  to  hear  you  but  our  own  people ;  and 
they'll  not  be  ovcrquick  to  help  you,  onless  it's  out  of  the  world  ; 
for  they  don't  like  a  woman's  hollering  when  there's  no  help  for 
it ;  and  it  won't  take  them  much  to  make  'ern  knock  you  and 
the  young  fellow  over  the  head." 

With  no  more  words,  having  made  both  the  parties  as  secure 
as  possible,  the  bandit  turned  off  to  join  his  comrades,  leaving 
the  widow  with  a  soul  swelling  to  bursting  with  fruitless  indig 
nation,  with  fear  and  ill-suppressed  rage,  for  which  she  could 
find  no  relief  even  in  feminine  tears.  But,  when  she  looked 
upon  her  son,  terror,  in  respect  to  his  danger,  suspended  every 
other  feelmg. 

"Oh!  Arthur  —  my  son  !  my  son  !  What  is  to  become  of 
us  1  They  will  kill  you,  my  son  ;  they  will  kill  us  both  !" 

The  son  groaned  in  answer,  and  once  more  writhed  desper 
ately,  but  vainly,  in  his  bonds.  Exhausted  with  his  ineffectual 
struggles  and  humbled  by  the  sense  of  shame  and  impotence, 
tears,  big  and  scalding,  gushed  from  his  eyes,  which  he  closed, 
in  very  mortification,  as  if  to  conceal  the  weakness  which  he 
could  not  control. 


64  WOODCRAFT. 


CHAPTER   XI 

s 

A    CHANGE    IN    THE    ASPECT    OF    AFFAIRS. THE    MOUSE    ONAWr 

THROUGH   THE    LICN'S    MESHES. 

HALF  an  hour  might  have  elapsed,  or  even  a  longer  period, 
and  the  outlaws  had  all  disappeared  from  the  sight  of  the  two 
fettered  parties — having  now  addressed  themselves  to  the  duty 
of  capturing  the  negroes,  and  overhauling  the  wagon,  which 
slowly  followed  in  the  rear.  But  few  words  had  passed  be 
tween  the  mother  and  her  son.  They  had  nothing  consoling 
in  their  thoughts,  and  no  motive,  accordingly,  for  speech.  They 
crouched,  gloomy,  wretched,  and  full  of  apprehensions,  on  the 
spot,  and  against  the  trees  to  which  they  had  been  separately 
fastened ;  when  the  ear  of  the  widow  caught  a  rustling  sound 
among  the  bushes  behind  her,  and  a  moment  after  heard  a 
voice,  which  she  readily  recognised  as  that  of  her  maid-servant, 
Jenny.  It  was  at  this  moment  that  she  remembered  that  the 
ruffian  who  ordered  the  girl  from  the  coach,  and  finally  hurled 
nor  out  of  it,  had  called  her  by  her  true  name — a  fact  to  be 
remembered. 

The  girl  had  been  much  more  fortunate  than  her  mistress.  It 
is  true,  the  outlaws,  provoked  by  her  clamors,  had  bandaged  her 
jaws ;  but  they  had  neglected,  in  their  anxiety  to  secure  the 
widow  and  search  the  carriage,  to  bandage  her  arms  also.  The 
sly  negro,  in  the  general  confusion,  and  not  being  a  conspicuous 
personage,  was  allowed  to  crawl  away  unperceived  into  the 
bushes  ;  and,  in  the  variety  of  interests  which  the  outlaws  had  to 
consult,  remained,  for  a  time,  altogether  unremembered.  While 
the  two,  having  charge  of  the  widow,  ran  forward  to  plant  an 
ambush  for  the  son,  the  girl  had  found  close  shelter  in  the  thick 
ets —  had  succeeded  in  stripping  the  bandage  from  her  jaws,  and 
had  so  far  recovered  her  wits,  or  her  instincts,  as  to  feel  tbe 
desire  of  being  useful.  Keeping  still  the  cover  of  the  thicket, 
she  had  wound  her  way  along  the  road,  though  at  a  safe  dis- 


A    CHANGE    IS"   THE    ASPECT    OF    AFFAIRS.  65 

tance  from  it,  toward  the  spot  subsequently  marked  by  the 
struggle  with  young  EvoJeigh,  and  the  pinioning  of  himself  and 
mother;  and  now  she  stood,  but  a  few  paces  distant  in  the 
wo*ods,  seemingly  afraid  to  venture  out  upon  the  public  road, 
on  the  margin  of  which  the  captives  had  been  bound.  Her 
object  was  to  feel  if  the  coast  was  clear.  She  could  see  her 
mistress  and  the  youth,  from  her  place  of  harborage,  but  the 
highway,  up  and  down,  was  beyond  her  survey. 

"  Hi.  missis,  hi !  Da  me  !  Da  Jinney  !  I  jis*  want  for 
know  ef  dem  black  people  gone." 

"  Oh  !  Jenny,  yes  ;  I  don't  see  them  !" 

"  Look  up  de  road,  missis,  ef  you  kin.  Le*  me  yer  [hear] 
wha'  you  kin  see  up  de  road,  fus,,  'fore  I  come." 

"  I  see  nothing  but  the  carriage,  Jenny.  I  see  no  person 
about  it.  They  are  gone,  but  I  hear  a  noise." 

"  I  yer  dat  noise  too,  but  he's  fur  away  on  do  road.  I  kin 
come  out  den  ?" 

"Yes  you  may  —  but  look  sharp,  Jenny." 

"  Yer's  me  !"  cried  the  girl,  emerging  from  the  wood.  "  Lor* 
a  mussy  !  —  an'  he  tie  you,  and  mass  Art'ur  !  De  black  deb- 
bils  —  he  tie  you,  missis  ?  You  got  knife  ?" 

"  Put  your  hand  in  my  pocket  —  you  will  find  one." 

"  I  liab  'im — le'  me  cut  you  loose." 

"  Arthur  first,  Jenny,"  said  the  mother,  earnestly.  But  the 
girl  was  already  slashing  away  at  the  ploughlines  which  had 
been  used  to  secure  the  mistress.  In  a  moment  her  arms  were 
free.  The  mother  then  seized  the  knife  herself  to  perform  the 
grateful  office  of  giving  freedom  to  her  son.  A  few  more  sec 
onds  sufficed  for  this,  and  the  youth  sprang  up  with  a  new 
sense  of  manhood,  and  full  of  a  fierce  desire  for  the  conflict. 

"Now,  Arthur,  my  son,  fly  to  the  woods  —  hide  yourself — 
see  if  you  can  find  a  horse,  and  speed  for  help." 

"  No  indeed,  mother,"  cried  the  youth,  resuming  his  empty 
rifle  and  pistols,  which  had  been  suffered  to  lie  where  they  had 
fallen  in  the  scuffle  ;  "  do  you  and  Jenny  take  to  the  woods. 
Push  down  for  the  swamp,  which  is  only  a  few  hundred  yards 
below,  and  there  hide  yourself." 

"  What  do  you  propose  to  do,  Arthur  ?"  she  asked  in  some 
trepidation,  seeing  him  proceed  to  reload  his  rifle  ;  the  outlaws 


66  WOODCRAFT. 

having  thought  it  quite  unnecessary  to  deprive  him  of  his  pow 
der-horn  and  pouch. 

"  I  must  see  after  Fordham,  mother.  They  may  have  killed 
him,  or  bound  him,  as  they  bound  us.  If  he  lives,  there  are 
two  of  us,  both  armed — " 

"  But  two,  Arthur,  against  six." 

"  Five  only,  mother,  now!     One  you  recollect — " 

"Yes,  yes!" 

"  Well,  two  against  five,  both  armed,  is  no  bad  ambush  :  and 
we  shall  surprise  the  rascals.  You  will  see." 

"  But  if  poor  Fordham  should  have  been  killed,  my  son  ?" 

"  I  will  revenge  him  !"  cried  the  noble  boy,  driving  home  the 
bullet,  and,  immediately  after,  bounding  off  along  the  road  in  the 
direction  of  the  spot  where  Fordham  had  been  knocked  down. 
His  mother  wrung  her  hands  passionately.  She  dared  not  call 
out  after  him,  lest  she  should  alarm  other  ears ;  and  it  was  only 
with  a  great  effort  of  will  that  she  controlled  her  feelings,  and 
adopted  the  youth's  counsel,  by  burying  herself  in  the  woods 
beyond.  Yet  she  only  put  herself  in  partial  cover.  Her  anxi 
ety  led  her  still  to  pursue  a  course  parallel  with  the  road,  keep 
ing  the  same  direction  with  her  son. 

It  did  not  require  many  minutes  to  enable  Arthur  Eveleigh  to 
cover  the  space  between,  and  to  reach  the  borders  of  the  creek 
where  the  outlaws  had  attacked  the  overseer  and  himself. 
There  were  all  the  signs  of  the  struggle  between  Fordham  and 
the  ruffian  who  assailed  him ;  but  Fordham  was  not  to  be  seen. 
While  the  youth  looked  about  in  wonder,  he  heard  his  name 
called  by  some  one  in  the  wood,  and  reasonably  conjectured  the 
person  to  be  the  one  he  sought.  He  pushed  through  the  bushes 
to  the  spot,  and  found  him,  bruised  and  beaten,  hardly  well  re 
covered  from  the  stunning  blow  by  which  he  had  been  felled  to 
the  ground — but  otherwise  not  injured.  He  was  tied  down  to 
a  sapling,  as  the  widow  and  the  youth  had  been ;  and  beside 
him,  within  a  couple  of  feet,  lay  the  corpse  of  the  outlaw,  stark 
and  stiff,  whom  Arthur  himself  had  slain  —  a  spectacle  which 
made  the  boy  shudder,  and  grow  suddenly  sick ;  but  which  poor 
Fordham  had  been  compelled  to  endure  for  a  goodly  hour ! 

But  time  was  pressing.  The  exigency  of  the  case  did  not 
allow  Arthur  Eveleigh  1o  give  way  to  any  nervous  emotions, 


A   CHANGE   IN   THE   ASPECT    OF   AFFAIRS.  67 

however  natural.  Their  assailants,  as  the  two  reasonably  ap 
prehended,  might  be  soon  again  upon  them,  and  the  youth, 
strongly  exerting  his  moral  nature,  overcame  his  sickness,  ana 
cut  the  cords  which  fettered  the  overseer.  Fordham,  on  his 
feet,  rapidly  recovered  himself.  His  own  rifle,  and  that  of  the 
dead  man,  lay  together,  with  an  old  pistol  belonging  to  the  out 
laws.  Of  these,  Arthur  and  himself  took  quick  possession. 

"  And  now,"  said  Fordham,  "  I  want  to  see  if  I  can  make  out 
this  carrion." 

And  he  stooped  to  examine  the  body  of  the  slain  man.  But 
Arthur  turned  away — though  a  strange  fascination  seemed,  a 
moment  after,  to  compel  him  to  gaze  upon  the  face  of  the  vic 
tim,  from  whose  head  Fordham  had  removed  a  wilderness  of 
false,  black,  and  matted  hair.  The  whiskers  came  off  with  like 
readiness. 

"  He's  a  stranger  to  me,"  said  Fordham.  "  He's  a  mighty 
bad  face,  and  here's  a  cut  over  his  cheek,  a  great  slash,  that 
looks  as  if  'twas  done  with  a  broadsword,  and  it  hasn't  been  so 
very  long.  I  reckon  he  was  some  toiy.  Your  shot  was  well 
p'inted,  Mr.  Arthur  —  it's  gone,  I  reckon,  straight  through  his 
heart.  It's  worked  a  most,  amazin'  big  hole  in  his  bosom.  See 
to  that." 

The  youth  looked  as  directed,  but  turned  away  quickly. 

"  Enough,  Fordham  !  We  have  precious  little  time.  We  had 
better  be  loading,  and  putting-  ourselves  in  readiness." 

"  What's  to  be  done  1     Where's  your  mother  ?" 

c<  In  the  woods  with  Jenny.  I  told  her  to  push' into  the 
swamp  where  she  could  hide  ;so  close  that  a  hundred  men 
couldn't  find  her  in  a  three  dttys^  search — " 

"  Onless  it  so  happened  !  But  you  are  right.  And  what  now 
are  we  to  do  ]" 

"There  are  two  of  us  —  there  are  four  or  five  of  these  out 
laws.  They  have  gone  down  the  road,  but  will  probably  return. 
We  can  ambush  them,  as  they  ambushed  us ;  we  have  three 
rifles,  and  as  many  pistols." 

•'  Good,  Mr.  Arthur !  But  to  ambush  them,  we  must  hide 
t'other  side  of  the  spot  where  they  tied  you  and  your  mother. 
If  they  git  to  that  spot  and  find  you  gone,  they'll  take  the 
woods  on  us."  v 


68  WOODCRAFT. 

"  True  !     Let's  push  for  it,  Fordham.'" 

"  I'm  consenting,"  answered  the  other,  who  had  just  finished 
loading  the  two  rifles.  These  he  took  on  his  shoulder.  The 
pistols  were  loaded  also,  and  the  whole  stock  of  arms  pretty 
equally  divided  between  the  two.  In  a  few  moments  they 
struck  into  the  woods,  Fordham  taking  the  lead,  and  following 
the  edge  of  the  road,  with  a  bold  stride,  yet  a  vigilant  eye  to 
every  bush  that  stirred.  He  had  recovered  all  his  energies,  and 
now  showed  himself,  as  he  was,  a  thorough  master  of  woodcraft. 
We  leave  the  two  in  their  progress ;  having  almost  reached  the 
spot  where  the  carriage  had  been  halted  and  turned  across  the 
rond.  At  this  moment,  and  when  Arthur,  seeing  nothing,  w*>5? 
nbont  to  push  forward,  Fordham  caught  his  wrist,  suddenly,  and 
drew  him  back  into  the  shelter  of  the  thicket.  Let  us  leave 
them,  and  look  after  our  outlaws  for  a  while. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

HOW  BLACKBIRDS  ARE  TAKEN,  AND  HOW  BLACKBIRDS  FLY 

HAVING,  as  they  fancied,  secured  the  only  persons  who  were 
likely  to  give  them  any  trouble — having  ransacked  the  carriage, 
and  taken  into  their  own  keeping  any  small  valuables  which 
had  previously  eluded  their  search — our  banditti,  under  the  con 
duct  of  the  squatter,  Bostwick,  now  prepared  to  turn  their  atten 
tion  upon  the  negroes  and  the  approaching  wagon.  This  vehicle 
might  have  been  three  quarters  of  a  mile  in  the  rear  of  the  car 
riage  when  the  latter  was  arrested,  the  inmates  taken  captive, 
and  the  assault  made  upon  Fordham  and  young  Arthur.  Of 
these  events,  the  negroes,  by  whom  the  wagon  was  accompanied 
and  driven,  had  no  sort  of  conjecture,  at  the  moment  when  they 
happened.  The  road  was  one  of  those  admirably  circuitous 
ones,  so  common  in  our  forest  country,  which  seldom  afford  yon 
a  direct  survey  of  the  route  for  three  hundred  yards  together ; 
and,  trudging  on,  with  tongues  incessantly  employed,  singing  or 
talking,  the  negroes  had  ears  for  no  sounds  but  those  which 
they  themselves  produced.  The  wagon  was  mostly  filled  with 


HOW  BLACKBIRDS  ARE  TAKEN.  69 

Htores,  sugar,  coffee,  flour,  bacon,  blankets,  and  negro  clothes. 
These  loaded  it  rather  heavily  for  the  six  mules  by  which  it  was 
drawn.  To  this  load  you  may  add,  at  intervals,  two  or  three 
of  the  negroes,  who,  from  temporary  lameness,  or  a  less  degree 
of  strength  than  the  rest,  were  permitted,  occasionally,  to  relieve 
their  fatigue  by  a  lift  in  the  wagon. 

One  of  these  negroes,  belonging  to  Captain  Porgy,  was,  by 
the  way, 'an  expert  violinist.  His  only  possession  was  a  cracked 
and  ancient  fiddle,  the  seams  of  which  had  been  carefully,  but 
roughly,  closed  with  resin  from  the  pine  trees,  gathered  as  he 
passed.  With  this  instrument  he  contrived  to  increase  the  noise 
and  the  merriment  which  still  accompanied  their  progress,  and 
to  lessen  the  consciousness  of  fatigue  on  the  part  of  his  com 
panions.  Pomp,  or  Pompey  —  that  was  his  name  —  as  might 
be  expected,  was  a  great  favorite ;  and  his  plea  of  lameness,  we 
may  add,  was  not  examined  too  closely  by  the  driver  of  the 
wagon,  when  it  was  remembered  that  his  violin  could  be  made 
to  work  while  he  played.  The  negroes  were  fourteen  in  num 
ber,  seven  of  them  being  the  property  of  Mrs.  Eveleigh,  the 
rest  of  Captain  Porgy  —  all  of  whom,  with  one  exception,  had 
been  recovered  from  the  clutches  of  the  insatiate  Colonel  Mon- 
crieff  and  his  colleagues.  These  were  all  walking,  with  the  ex 
ception  of  the  wagoner,  Tobias,  Pomp,  the  violinist,  and  Dembo, 
a  young  fellow  of  sixteen  —  the  two  latter  being  within  the 
wagon  —  Dembo  looking  out  from  the  opening  of  the  cover,  in 
the  rear,  while  Pomp  occupied  a  similar  position  in  front ;  the 
post  of  honor  being  naturally  claimed  for  the  violin.  Tobias 
bestrode  the  wheel-horse  immediately  in  front  of  him,  and  when 
Pomp  was  not  actually  playing,  he  and  Tobias  kept  up  a  run 
ning  commentary  upon  the  ways  before  them,  the  events  through 
which  they  had  passed*  their  recent  captivity  in  the  British 
huik,  and  their  fortunate  escape  at  the  very  last  moment.  Thus 
travelling  and  employed,  the  party  at  length  wound  its  way 
slowly  into  the  plain,  at  the  farthest  opening  of  which — perhaps 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  distant  —  the  carriage  of  the  widow  could 
now  be  seen,  awkwardly  enough,  turned  directly  across  the 
road. 

The  situation  of  this  vehicle  was  first  beheld  by  the  pioneer 
of  the  party,  an  able-bodied,  fine-looking  fellow,  named  John, 


TO  WOODCRAFT. 

or  John  Sylvester,  as  he  preferred  to  be  called,  after  a  former 
owner  by  whom  he  had  been  reared.  John  was  a  calm,  and 
rather  thoughtful  fellow,  of  quick  comprehension,  keen  sight, 
and  good  judgment.  He  stopped  immediately,  looked  earnestly 
about  him,  and,  after  surveying,  for  a  few  moments,  the  situa 
tion  of  the  carriage,  he  turned  quietly  back  to  the  wagon  and 
his  companions. 

"Look  yer,  Toby"  —  speaking  to  Tobias,  the  wagoner — 
"  dem  hoss  of  missis  nebber  tu'n  dat  carriage  'cross  de  road,  as 
you  see  'em.  He  hab  somebody  for  tu'n  'em  so,  for  sure." 

"  Ki !"  quoth  Tobias,  looking  out  and  drawing  up  his  team,  as 
he  gazed,  "wha*  dat?  He  choke  up  de  road  for  sure.  Sartin, 
John,  de  hoss  nebber  tu'n  'em  so  hese'f  [heself] !'' 

"  Nebber  !"  continued  John  ;  "  and  you  see  nudder  t'ing,  Toby 
—  de  hoss  tek'  out  and  gone  !  He  nebber  tek'  out  hese'f." 

"Da's  true!     Wha'  dis  !" 

"  Now,  Toby,  you  hab  eye !  Look  to  de  little  wood  ob 
scrubby  oak;  you  see?  You  see  hoss  hitch,  and  der's  a  coal 
black  hoss  hitch  wid  udder  hoss  in  dat  scrubby  oak  ?" 

"  I  see  !     Coal  black  hoss  dey,  for  true,  John." 

"  Missis  ain't  got  no  coal  black  hoss,  Toby." 

"  Nebber." 

"  Toby,  I'm  jubous,  der's  somct'ing  wrong  in  dis  bis'ness. 

Boy,  you  'member  dat  d n  poor  buckrah,  Bossick  ?  He  hab 

big,  rawbone,  coal  black  hoss,  same  time  he  catch  we,  and  carr} 
we  to  town." 

"  You  sure  he  been  Bossick  was  catch  we,  John  ?" 

"  Enty  I  know  !  He  big  beard  like  goat,  and  head  o'  hair 

like  wolf,  nebber  been  blin'  me  so  I  can't  tell  the  d n  blear 

eye  son  ob  a  skunk.  I  smell  'em  out,  same  as  pole-cat,  in  my 
nose.  I  tell  you,  Toby,  Bossick  was  the  same  poor  buckrah 
been  nab  we.  He  de  same  one  was  ride  de  rawbone  black.  He 
can't  fool  dis  nigger.  I'm  jubous  dat  is  Bossick  hoss  you  see 
dey  in  de  scrubby  oak.  I'm  jubous  Bossick  is  yer  in  dese  parts 
I  t'ink  I  feel  de  smell  of  de  pole-cat  in  my  nose  jes'  now.  Dat 
carriage  aint  cross  de  road  for  nuttin'  [nothing]." 

"Well  —  wha'  for  do?"  demanded  Toby,  in  considerable  ex 
citement. 

"Da's  de  fin?;  —  but  I  tell  you  Toby,  John  Sylvester  neb 


HOW    BLACK  WKDS    AUE    TAKEN.  Ti 

her  guine  le'  Joe  Bossick  put  lie  dirty,  poor  buckrah  paw  'pon 
him  shoulder  agen !  I  nebber  guine  back  to  clat  d — n  salt 
water  hole  in  de  wharf,  ef  I  kin  help  it.  You  mus'  do  wha'  you 
kin!  You  can't  lef  de  bosses —  dat  you  know.  But,  dis  nig 
ger  will  hide  hese'f  in  de  wood,  and  be  ready  for  a  run ;  and 
you  better  gi'  all  dese  niggers  a  chance.  Better  we  bury  wesc'f 
up  to  do  neck  in  de  swamp,  where  we  knows  de  varmints,  dan 
le'  'em  carry  we  off  to  de  British  hulk,  I'm  a  finking." 
"  You  right !  But  wha'  me  for  do  ?" 

"  You  stick  to  de  wagon.  You  will  hab  for  dribe,  you  know. 
But  Pomp  kin  skip  out  wid  me  ;  and  Dembo  dere ;  and  any  ob 
de  fellows  wha'  chooses,  kin  mek'  track  [run]  same  as  you  see 
me  mek'  'em." 

"  But  you  aint  guine  run  'fore  you  see  wha's  a-coming'r* 
"  No  !     But  I  guine  to  stan'  ready  for  wha's  a-coming,  boy. 
You  see  dat  close  t'ick  [thick  or  thicket]  'pon  de  lef  ob  de  road  ? 

I'm  jubous  der's  some  d d  varmint,  like  a  poor  buckrali,  da's 

a-lyin'  close  'pon  de  lookout  in  dat  same  t'ick.  You  dribe  slow; 
I  watch  'em.  Da's  all.  You  yer  [hear],  boys  ?  Jes'  wha'  you 
see  me  do,  ef  you  hab  sense,  you  guine  do  de  same  as  me.  De 
larne  nigger  wha'  can't  run,  le'  'em  lie  close  and  kick !  Ef  Bos- 
sick  nebber  see  nigger  legs  'fore  to-day,  I  'spec  he  will  hab 
sight  dis  time  !  Yer!" 

Thus  warned  and  counselled,  the  negroes  were  all  on  the 
lookout.  John  Sylvester,  for  his  own  part,  took  care  to  suffer 
the  wagon  to  keep  between  himself  and  the  suspicious  wood  he 
had  pointed  out.  Pomp,  the  violinist,  slipped  out  of  the  wagon, 
still  keeping  his  fiddle  in  hand,  and  followed  in  the  steps  of 
John.  The  other  negroes,  with  one  or  two  exceptions,  seemed 
rather  stupefied  and  undetermined,  at  the  notion  that  they  were 
in  some  peril  of  a  return  to  captivity.  They  crowded  together 
.,  the  tail  of  the  wagon,  as  a  flock  of  sheep  threatened  an  all 
sides.  Tobias  drove  slowly,  keeping  up  a  soliloquy,  in  under 
tones;  which  betrayed  his  fear  to  his  mules  if  to  no  other  audi 
tors.  In  this  way,  the  party  had  advanced  about  a  couple  of 
hundred  yards,  when  a  shrill  Avhistle  was  heard  from  the  thicket 
to  which  John  had  pointed.  Tobias  drew  up  at  the  same  h> 
stant. 

"  You  ye'r  [hear]  John  Sylbester  V  quoth  Tobias. 


"I  ye'r,  Toby  !  You  drihe  on!  Don't  yon  stop!  Ef  you 
see  anyt'ing  like  trouble,  gee  de  mule  de  whip,  and  push.  We 
only  scben  mile  from  home,  T  t'ink." 

"  Wha'  tlat  1"  cried  Tobias.     "  I  see  buckrali,  for  true." 

"In  de  t'ick?" 

"  He  da  peep  !" 

"  Ha  !  de  d d  snake  in  de  grass !"  was  the  brief  commen 
tary  of  John,  as,  squatting,  he  peered  beneath  the  wheels  of  the 
wngon.  The  mules  were  again  in  motion.  Hardly  had  they 
advanced  ten  paces,  when  there  was  a  rush  from  the  thicket.  A 
couple  of  fierce  looking  brigands,  black  with  hair,  and  beard,  and 
smut  appeared  a  little  in  front  of  the  mules,  each  carrying  a  rifle 
in  his  grasp.  At  that  moment,  John  Sylvester  disappeared  in 
the  opposite  woods ;  Pomp,  still  carrying  his  fiddle,  close  in  his 
wake.  They  had  barely  gained  the  cover,  when  three  other 
bandits  made  their  demonstration  close  beside  the  wagon. 

"  Stop,  there,  you  d d  black  Belzebub  !"  was  the  cry  of 

one  of  them  to  the  wagoner,  who  now  began  to  whip  up  his 
weary  and  sluggish  mules.  The  negroes,  recovering  their  con 
sciousness  and  energies,  proceeded  to  scatter  in  various  direc 
tions  ;  but  in  a  state  of  confusion,  which  left  them  doubtful 
which  way  to  go.  The  mules  were  forcibly  arrested,  and  taken 
out  of  the  wagon.  Tobias  was  tumbled  from  his  perch,  still 
grasping  the  lines. 

"  Hello  !  mussa  !  wha'  dis  ?"  demanded  the  poor  fellow. 

A  rude  blow  of  the  fist,  dexterously  planted  in  his  jaws,  muz 
zled  him  completely  ;  and  wliile  one  of  the  party  roped  him,  the 
others  scattered  in  pursuit  of  the  flying  negroes.  A  terrible 
summons,  followed  by  a  pistol-shot,  fired  over  their  heads, 
brought  three  or  four  of  them  to  a  dead  halt.  In  fear  and  trem 
bling  they  suffered  themselves  to  be  caught  and  corded  by  a 
single  pursuer.  With  these,  Tobias,  and  a  lame  fellow  in  the 
wagon,  the  brigands  found  themselves  in  possession  of  six  of  the 
the  fugitives.  There  were  still  eight  to  be  taken,  and,  leaving 
one  of  their  number  in  charge  of  the  captives,  two  of  the  four 
dashed  into  the  opposite  woods  whither  most  of  the  negroes  had 
been  seen  to  fly ;  while  the  remaining  two  hurried  back  to  their 
norses,  in  order  the  better  to  resume  the  chase. 


"TOO   QUICK   ON   TRIGGER,"  73 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

"TOO    QUICK    ON    TRIGGER." 

IT  will  be  remembered,  at  the  close  of  the  scene  that  Wit 
nessed  the  extrication  of  young  Arthur  from  his  bonds,  and  the 
recovery  of  Fordham,  the  overseer,  that  these  two  had  advanced 
to  the  place  where  the  assault  had  been  made  upon  the  carriage; 
and  that,  when  the  former  was  about  to  emerge  eagerly  from 
cover,  he  was  arrested  suddenly  by  his  companion,  in  conse 
quence  of  some  discovery  which  had  been  made  by  the  latter. 
The  discovery  was  that  of  the  horses  of  the  party,  which,  as 
we  have  seen,  were  all  fastened  to  swinging  limbs  of  trees,  in 
the  cover  of  a  little  clump  of  scrubby  oaks.  The  quick,  saga 
cious  experience  of  Fordham,  at  once  showed  him  the  advantages 
which  were  promised  by  this  discovery. 

"  Stop,  Mr.  Arthur;  —  we  must  think  a  little." 

"What  do  you  see,  Mr.  Fordham?" 

"  The  horses  !     Our  horses,  and  those  of  the  inimy." 

"Where?" 

"  Yonder  ;  —  in  them  scrubby  oaks." 

"We  have  them!"  cried  the  youth  eagerly,  seeing  the  uses 
of  the  discovery  at  a  glance. 

"  Perhaps  !"  replied  the  other.  "  The  first  thing  is  to  know  if 
any  one  watches  the  horses.  We  must  see  to  that.  We  must 
fetch  a  compass  through  the  woods,  and  come  in  on  the  back  of 
them.  I  must  give  you  a  lesson  in  woodcraft.  We  are  to  see 
without  being  seen.  If  they  see  us,  we  lose  all  that  we  have 
gained.  A  rifle  shot  from  behind  a  log  may  tumble  both  of  us, 
and  these  rascals  won't  stop  at  a  shot,  if  they  see  us  making  at 
them  with  we'pons  in  our  hands.  Let  us  round  this  thick,  and 
git  across  the  road  above." 

The  caution  necessary,  rendered  the  operation  a  tedious  one ; 
but  it  was  managed  with  perfect  success  by  the  practised  woods 
man  ;  Arthur  Eveleigh  following  promptly  in  his  track,  and 

4 


/4  WOODCRAFT. 

emulating  his  circumspection.  They  wound  their  way  under 
cover  to  the  horses,  and  found  them  without  any  guar.l  —  the 
bandit  needed  all  their  forces  for  the  pursuit  of  the  negroes.  In 
silence,  oid  with  great  deliberation,  Fordham  proceeded  to  strip 
the  horses  of  their  saddles,  which  he  concealed  in  the  thicket. 
To  remove  the  bridles  was  the  next  operation. 

"  What's  the  use  of  this,  Fordham  ?"  was  the  whispered  query 
of  his  young  companion. 

"To  gain  time  —  to  make  the  horses  as  useless  to  the  inirny 
as  possible.  But  we  will  leave  two  of  the  nags  saddled,  and  if 
you  will  lead  these  quietly,  through  the  wood  ahead,  and  get 
them  across  the  creek,  where  we  can  find  them  at  a  moment, 
they  will  help  you  and  your  mother  to  git  on.  These  rogues 
are  all  below  us,  I  reckon,  and  looking  out  for  the  wagon.  It's 
cl'ar  they're  aiming  at  a  great  plunder.  They'll  gut  the  wagon 
if  we  let  'em." 

"  But,  couldn't  we  mount,  and  ride  the  rascals  down  ?"  demand 
ed  the  youth. 

"  And  draw  a  rifle-shot  from  every  bush  as  we  pass  ?  No  ! 
no  !  Mr.  Arthur,  that  Avould  be  to  spile  the  whole  business. 
We've  got  a  Icetlc  the  advantage  now,  and  I'm  for  keeping 
it.  I'd  much  irther  cut  the  throats  of  all  the  horses  than  mount 
them,  now,  when  these  scamps  are  scattered  through  the  wood. 
But  let  us  stir  ourselves.  'Will  you  take  the  two  horses  down  to 
the  creek,  while  I  keep  watch  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  but  what  will  you  do  with  the  rest  ?" 

"  Turn  'em  loose,  and  let  'em  pick  about  the  woods.  They'll 
be  so  much  harder  to  be  caught." 

"  But  why  not  take  them  all  over  the  creek  ?" 

"  I'm  afraid  ;  lest  we  should  be  caught,  and  be  attacket  onu- 
wares.  It's  better  so,  as  I  tell  you.  Ef  you  don't  like  the  job, 
Mr.  Arthur,  say  so,  and  I'll  do  it  while  you  keep  watch  here  .; 
though  I'm  rather  the  better  band,  I'm  a-thinking,  to  do  the 
watching  part  of  the  business." 

"  No,  Fordham  ;  I'll  do  it." 

"  Hurry  then,  Master  Arthur,  and  be  back  as  soon  as  possible. 
With  our  three  rifles,  we  can  make  these  rascals  feel  very  sore 
taking  them  cwexpectedly  out  of  these  bushes.  1 11  not  tarn  the 
other  horses  loose  till  you  git  back." 


"  TOO    QUICK    ON    THIUGEIi."  75 

The  youth  had  but  three  hundred  yards  or  so  to  go,  and  he 
executed  his  duty  with  sufficient  celerity,  and  with  success.  He 
crept  back,  and  into  cover,  alongside  of  Fordham,  with  all  the 
stealth  of  an  experienced  woodman.  He  was  on  his  best  per 
formance,  and  taking  his  first  lesson  in  war ;  and  proud  and  soli 
citous  accordingly. 

"  And  now  that  we  are  ready  for  the  rascals,  I'll  jest  slip  the 
bridles  and  let  the  horses  free  Do  you  lie  close,  keep  behind 
that  log,  and  see  that  you  liavn't  spilt  your  priming." 

A  few  moments  sufficed  to  let  the  horses  loose,  and  then 
Fordham  crept  to  a  thick  clump  of  bushes,  some  ten  yards  from 
the  spot  occupied  by  Arthur,  and  laid  himself  at  length  behind 
it.  The  horses,  for  a  while,  as  if  unconscious  of  their  enlarge 
ment,  stood  with  heads  down  in  tlie  same  place.  Soon,  however, 
they  began  to  turn,  now  to  one  side  and  now  to  the  other;  — 
anon  they  thrust  their  noses  to  the  earth,  and  nibbled  at  the 
meagre  grasses ;  gradually,  they  began  to  wander,  and,  after  a 
short  interval,  to  scatter  themselves  about  the  wood.  Mean 
while,  the  wagon  appeared  in  sight,  and  our  party,  lying  perdu, 
beheld  the  rush  upon  it  from  the  Avood,  and  saw  the  result,  as 
we  have  thus  far  described  it. 

Their  turn  was  about  to  come. 

I  count  the  whole  five,  Mr.  Fordham,"  murmured  Arthur 
crawling  nigh  to  his  companion. 

"  Yes  ;  and  they've  work  to  do  before  they  catch  Jack  Sylves 
ter.  He's  off.  It's  him,  I  know,  that  walked  this  side  of  the 
wagon  ;  and  Captain  Porgy's  Pomp  was  jest  behind  him  with 
his  fiddle.  "With  two  horses  only,  the  rascals  will  never  catch 
them  all  in  this  world." 

"  They've  gone  after  them." 

"  Three  of  them,  I  think.  No  ;  only  the  two  mounted  men. 
I  still  see  three,  near  the  niggers  they've  caught.  They're  ty 
ing  them.  Well  —  that's  strange!  I  wonder  what  they  can 
mean  ?  They  surely  don't  intend  to  steal  'erii  ag'in,  now  the 
British  have  gone." 

And  Fordham  raised  himself  uneasily,  as  if  disposed  to  take 
th-  field. 

"  Lie  close,  Mr.  Fordham  —  they  re  coming  this  way. 

"  Sure  enough  :    two  of  them !      They're  coming  after  the 


76  WOODCRAFT, 

horses,  1  reckon.  Well,  with  two  off,  in  cliase  of  the  runaways, 
one  minding  the  wagon,  and  only  two  to  manage  at  a  time,  I 
think,  Mr.  Arthur,  we  ought  to  manage  'em.  If  we  can  pick 
off  these  two  skunks,  it  '11  take  more  courage  than  I  give  the 
other  chaps  credit  for,  to  bring  'em  down  to  attack  us  in  our  am 
bush.  Now,  don't  be  too  eager,  Mr.  Arthur — keep  down  your 
heart.  Shot  your  lips  close,  and  spread  out  quiet  on  your  left 
side.  Don't  you  cock  your  we'pon  'till  you're  ready  to  let  drive. 
There's  always  time  enough  for  that.  Perhaps  you'd  better  wait 
'till  I  give  tongue  with  my  rifle,  and  then  yours  can  follow  at 
the  chap  that  you  see  still  standing." 

"  Let  me  shoot  first,  Mr.  Fordham,  if  you  please  ?"  murmured 
the  youth  eagerly. 

"Well!  But  I'm  afraid  you'll  be  too  wzsteady  ; — you  talk 
like  it," 

"No  !  no  !"  answered  the  other,  "you'll  see." 

"  Well !  well !"  replied  the  overseer,  good  naturedly — "young 
fellows  must  begin  sometime  or  other !  Only,  Mr.  Arthur,  don't 
waste  the  bullet  when  you  show  where  you  take  your  rest. 
Don't  let  your  heart  thump  so  as  to  knock  your  eye  out  of  the 
range.  See  to  that," 

"  I  will !"  in  a  subdued,  yet  agitated  voice. 

No  more  Avas  said  between  the  parties ;  the  approach  of  <~he 
two  brigands  requiring  their  utmost  silence  and  attention.  On  a 
sudden  they  were  seen  to  halt.  They  had  discovered  that  the 
horses  had  escaped  from  their  place  of  fastening.  One  of  them 
pointed  to  a  couple  of  the  animals  which  had  wandered  some  fifty 
yards  from  the  cover,  and  were  now  feeding  up  through  an  open 
pine  ridge.  They  both  turned  aside  in  this  direction.  At  this 
moment  they  were  within  long  rifle  range  of  the  ambush.  The 
course  they  now  pursued  was  calculated  to  take  them  entirely 
beyond  it.  Arthur  Eveleigh  saw  this,  and,  in  his  eagerness,  his 
unwillingness  that  they  should  escape  him,  and  perhaps  from  a 
miscalculation  of  the  distance,  he  pulled  trigger  upon  them. 

"Too  far--too  far!"  muttered  Fordham  —  "I  was  afear'i 
he'd  be  too  quick  on  trigger." 

"  He's  got  it,"  cried  the  youth,  almost  too  loudly  for  pruden  •«*. 

"Only  a  taste  — a   flesh-wound,  Mr.  Arthur,"  said  Fordham 
who  could  better  appreciate  the  effects  produced   by  the  shot 


LESSONS   IN    WOODCRAFT.  77 

The  man  aimed  at  was  certainly  hit.  He  was  seen  to  spin 
round  for  a  moment  like  a  top,  while  his  right  hand  caught  con 
vulsively  the  left  arm  just  below  the  shoulders. 

"A  little  more  to  the  left,  Mr.  Arthur,  and  the  bullet  would 
have  bored  him  through  the  heart.  Now  it's  only  grazed  the 
arm.  He's  got  a  taste,  however,  that'll  operate  mightily  like  a 
scare.  They'll  fight  shy  of  us  now,  and  we  must  watch  that 
they  don't  fetch  a  compass  round  us.  Lie  close  and  reload." 

Meanwhile  the  companion  of  the  wounded  man  hurried  to  his 
assistance,  and  they  both  retired  in  the  direction  of  the  wagon. 
Here  they  were  seen  to  tear  off  the  coat  of  the  sufferer,  to 
examine  and  to  bandage  up  the  wound.  The  fellow  laid  him 
self  down,  leaning  with  his  head  against  a  tree.  The  dressing 
was  soon  performed,  and  Arthur  Eveleigh  was  mortified  im 
mensely  to  discover,  what  was  sufficiently  apparent,  that  the 
hurt,  as  Fordham  had  said,  was  to  the  flesh  only.  Not  a  bone 
was  broken  and  the  blood  was  quickly  stanched.  The  wounded 
man  was  seen  to  lift  his  arm  without  assistance,  and,  after  a  few 
moments  of  repose,  he  got  up  and  joined  his  comrades  who  had 
now  retired  to  the  woods,  as  if  for  consultation. 


CHAPTER   IV 

LESSONS    IN    WOODCRAFT 

THE  whole  aspect  of  the  affair  had  now  undergone  a  serious 
change  in  the  eyes  of  the  outlaws.  We  must  enter  into  their 
councils  for  a  moment.  Close  by  the  side  of  the  road,  but  con 
cealed  amid  the  shrubbery  which  skirted  it,  three  of  the  party 
had  assembled,  including  the  person  who  had  been  left  in  charge 
of  the  captured  negroes.  These,  as  they  had  all  by  this  time 
been  well  secured  with  ropes,  and  were  now  grouped  together 
at  the  side  of  the  wagon,  needed  perhaps  no  close  furveifiance. 
Still,  the  party  at  the  roadside,  but  a  few  paces  distant,  were 
ready,  should  there  be  any  movement  among  the  slaves.  But 
they  lay  quiet,  crouching  close  to  the  earth,  and  entirely  sub- 


78  WOODCRAFT. 

dueol  by  their  terrors.  The  two  absent  outlaws  were  still  in 
pyrsuit  of  the  fugitive  negroes  in  the  woods  opposite.  The 
three  whom  we  now  find  in  council  consisted  of  Bostwick,  the 
squatter,  Ralph  Burke,  and  Dick  Norris  —  distinct  persons  all, 
certainly,  but  with  such  a  family  likeness  among  them,  the 
result  of  great  beards,  mammoth  wigs  and  whiskers,  all  of 
glossy  black,  and  similar  habits,  that  they  could  really  only  dis 
tinguish  each  other  by  their  voices.  Bostwick,  as  was  proper, 
was  the  person  to  open  the  conference  upon  the  state  of  their 
affairs. 

"Well,  boys,  here's  a  trouble.  These  chaps  have  got  loose, 
and  how,  is  the  puzzle." 

"  No  puzzle,  I  reckon,"  answered  Burke.  "  They've  been 
ontied  by  that  wench  that  you  let  slip  out  of  the  carriage 
That's  the  how." 

"  I  reckon  it  must  be  so,"  answered  Bostwick. 

"  And  how  you  come  to  let  her  slip,  is  a  matter  1  can't  see 
You  would  take  the  carriage  to  yourself,  and  shat  your  eyes  to 
hafe  [half]  the  business." 

"  Yes  ;  whar'  was  your  eyes,  Bostwick  ?"  quoth  Norris. 

"  In  the  widow's  pockets,  I  reckon,"  muttered  Burke,  with  a 
shrewd  approach  to  the  truth. 

"  I  miss'd  it  sartain,  somehow,"  replied  Bostwick,  composedly; 
"  but  that's  not  the  matter  now.  It's  now  to  see  how  we  liev  to 
mend  the  slip.  It's  sartin  sure  that  Fordham  and  the  young 
man  are  loose,  and  it  don't  matter  by  whose  hands.  I  suppose 
the  widow's  loose  too  ?" 

"  There  was  only  one  shot,  Bostwick,"  quoth  Norris. 

"  Well,  what  of  that  ?" 

"  Well,  that  would  show  there  was  only  one  man.  Now,  it's 
not  so  cl'ar  to  me  that  Fordham's  loose.  He  had  quite  too  Lard 
a  hit  o'  the  head  to  git  the  use  of  his  eyes  and  fingers^so  mighty 
quick,  ay,  or  his  senses  either.  Now,  if  it  should  be  only  the 
young  un." 

"Hardly.  He's  not  got  the  sense  for  it  yet,  though  he's 
spunky,  I  know  —  I  know  him  of  old.  I've  seen  and  talked 
with  him  years  ago,  when  he  wasn't  knee-high.  Ef  'twas  only 
him,  we  could  soon  sarcumvent  him.  But  it's  not  so  easy  work 
with  Fordham,  who  is  a  sort  <jf  man-fox,  I  toll  you  ;  as  can- 


LESSONS   IN    WOODCRAFT.  79 

ning  as  a  sarpent,  and  with  a  mighty  hard  head  and  fist  in  a 
fight." 

"There  was  hut  one  shot !"  quoth  Norris,  pertinaciously. 

"  Yes,  and  Fordham  wasn't  the  man  to  shoot  that,  I'm  think 
ing,"  said  Burke.  Ef  he's  the  man  you  say,  he'd  ha'  held  back, 
ontil  he  could  ha'  made  a  better  mark  with  the  bullet.  It's  the 
boy,  I  tell  you." 

"  But  suppose  the  man's  along  with  him  V1 

"  Would  Fordham  ha'  let  the  chap  shoot  a  minnit  before  the 
time?" 

"  I  reckon  he  couldn't  help  it.  The  boy  was  always  mighty 
hard-headed.  But  whether  there's  one  or  two,  boys,  there's  only 
one  way  before  us,  and  that's  to  find  out,  and  take  the  back 
track  upon  'em.  So,  up  with  you,  Rafe  Burke  ;  we're  the  men 
for  tliis  business  !  We'll  leave  you,  Norris,  to  keep  an  eye  on 
the  road  and  the  negroes  —  seeing  as  how  you're  a  Avounded 
man ;  you're  an  tmcombatant,  as  they  say,  and  kin  only  do  hos 
pital  sarvice." 

"  Psho  !  I  kin  do  as  much  as  ever.  This  here  is  only  a 
scratch,  and  a  mighty  lectle  one  at  that." 

"  It  come  mighty  nigh  to  making  your  cross,  old  fellow.  Tlio 
same  bullet,  only  a  lectle  to  the  left,  would  have  worked  out  a 
buttonhole  in  your  ribs  that  no  plaster  could  have  shet  up 
again.  But,  whether  you  kin  do  much  or  leetle,  aint  a  mat 
ter  now.  You  kin  use  your  rifle  at  a  push,  and  that's  enough. 
Keep  your  eye  on  the  niggers,  and  if  Jeff  Brydges  and  Tony 
Ilincs  come  in  afore  we  git  back,  keep  'em  in  till  you  hear  the 
whistle  three  times  —  three  short  whistles  and  a  long  one.  You 
know  what  that  means  ?  Then  bring  all  hands  to  bear.  We'll 
want  you." 

"  What's  your  first  aim  now,  Bostwick  ?" 

"  To  git  on  the  back  of  these  fellows,  and  see  after  the  widow. 
Ef  we  kin  git  hold  of  licr  agin,  supposing  they've  cut  her  loose 
and  hid  her,  we.  sh'll  be  mighty  nigh  to  making  what  tarms  we 
please  with  her  son  and  Fordham." 

Such  was  the  ruffianly  policy  of  the  parties.  Bostwick  and 
Ralph  Burke  now  disappeared,  pushing  deeply  into  the  woods, 
and  carefully  giving  a  wide  berth  to  the  precinct  still  occupied 
by  the  carriage,  where  they  now  knew  the  two  honest  men  to 


80  WOODCRAFT. 

be  in  ambush.     Meanwhile,  what  of  these  companions,  the 
scer  and  young  Arthur  ? 

We  must  not  suppose  that  Forclham  was  so  inexperienced  a 
woodmar*  as  to  continue  in  occupation  of  the  spot  which  they 
had  distinguished  by  the  discharge  of  firearms.  lie  knew  bet 
ter  the  necessity,  so  admirably  practised  among  all  the  partisans 
of  this  region,  of  changing  the  ground  the  moment  they  had 
struck  a  blow,  or  in  any  way  given  reason  to  an  enemy  to  think 
that  they  occupied  it.  Scarcely  had  Norris  and  Bostwick  re 
treated  from  before  young  Arthur's  fire,  than  the  overseer  said 
to  his  inexperienced  companion  — 

"  Now,  Mister  Arthur,  this  is  jest  no  place  for  us  !  We  must 
creep  out  and  off,  and  shift  quarters.  Don't  you  rise,  for  you 
don't  know  what  spies  may  be  looking  out  in  this  direction  now. 
Take  your  rifle  in  your  right  hand,  and  crawl,  as  well  as  you 
kin,  sideways,  tell  you  git  to  the  end  of  that  log,  then  twist 
round,  and  crawl  fora'd,  in  a  straight  track  for  the  crossing  at 
the  creek." 

"  What's  to  be  done  now,  Mr.  Fordham  ?' 

"  Jest  now,  nothing,  but  what  I  tell  you  !  To  creep  out  of 
quarters  in  front  of  which  you've  cried  aloud  from  the  mouth  of 
a  rifle,  '  here  your  inimies  camp/  You  ain't  to  think  that  five 
rapscallions  like  these,  aiming  at  plunder,  will  give  up  the  s'arch 
when  they  know  there's  only  two  ag'inst  'em.  They'll  be  upon 
us  ag'in,  and  it's  my  notion  now  to  take  up  a  position  jest  where 
they  mightn't  look  to  find  us." 

"  Shall  we  not  push  down  to  the  swamp  where  mother's 
gone  ?" 

"No,  no,  Mr.  Arthur!  — there's  some  birds  about  your  own 
fields  that  could  teach  you  better  than  that.  They  takes  care, 
when  you're  birding,  to  fly  jest  the  farthest  from  where  they 
hides  their  family  ;  and  they  take  pretty  good  care,  by  crying, 
and  chirruping,  and  screaming,  and  dipping  about  all  the  time, 
to  make  you  believe  jest  the  contrary.  Leave  your  mother  to 
herself.  I  reckon  they'll  never  do  her  any  mischief,  more  than 
robbing  her  of  all  she  has  about  her.  But  we  hain't  got  the 
protection  of  a  petticoat,  and  we  mustn't  risk  anything  by  hav 
ing  a  petticoat  in  our  way.  Do  you  jest  follow  now,  as  I  show 
vou,  never  rising  up  once  higher  than  you  do  now,  tell  I  givo 


LESSONS     N   WOODCRAFT.  81 

the  word.  One  never  knows  when  he's  quite  safe  in  sich  an 
expedition  as  this ;  and  the  only  chance  is  in  jest  playing  the 
jcout,  as  ef  you  had  a  wolf  on  one  quarter,  and  a  yellow  painter 
panther]  on  t'other.  Pull  up  now — it's  slow  and  tiresome 
walking,  this,  on  all  fours,  or  belly  to  the  ground  like  a  snake  ; 
but  it's  more  sure  than  any  other,  and  won't  last  very  long." 

Fordham  led  the  way  with  a  will,  crawling  forward  with  a 
degree  of  ease  and  rapidity  which  was  quite  surprising  to  young 
Arthur,  whose  practice  had  never  been  in  this  sort  of  woodcraft 
Ho  was  for  ever  anested  by  boughs  of.  trees,  fragments  of  the 
storm  ;  by  holes  and  hillocks ;  by  vines  and  roots,  that,  bulging 
out  upon  the  surface,  and  concealed  by  dried  leaves,  caught  foot 
or  hand,  or  rifle,  alternately,  and  to  his  perpetual  annoyance. 
He  was,  a  dozen  times,  on  the  point  of  springing  to  his  feet,  and 
braving  every  danger,  but  that  he  was  partly  subdued  by  the 
reflection  that  his  recent  precipitation  had  already  brought 
about  mischievous  results.  Besides,  he  was  watched  by  Ford- 
ham,  who  ever  and  anon  put  in  his  exhortation  judiciously,  to 
"  take  it  coolly,"  "  don't  be  in  a  hurry,  Master  Arthur,"  "  only 
a  leetle  bit  longer,"  and  "  it  will  soon  be  over."  When  the  pa 
tience  of  the  youth  was  almost  exhausted,  Fordham  uttered  the 
grateful  words  of  relief. 

"Now,  Master  Arthur,  we  can  lift  ourselves.  We're  in  a 
pretty  close  thick,  you  see  of  gall  and  *  hurrah-bushes,'  where  it 
would  puzzle  the  prophet  Daniel  to  look  us  out.  Here,  do  you 
lie  quiet  for  a  bit,  tell  I  take  a  view  of  the  field  of  battle.  I'll 
not  be  long  ;  and  you  shall  hear  me  hoot,  like  an  owl,  when  I'm 
coming  back." 

He  disappeared  almost  with  the  words,  affording  young  Ar 
thur,  who  was  buried  on  every  side  in  the  thicket,  no  oppor 
tunity  for  a  single  word.  The  place  in  which  the  latter  found 
himself  was  a  sort  of  wolf-castle,  as,  in  the  southern  country, 
such  places  arc  apt  to  be  called.  The  wild,  matted,  tangled, 
tough,  and  altogether  indescribable  shrub,  which  the  woodman 
described  as  the  "  hurrah -bush,"  and  for  which  we  have  no  bet 
ter  name,  constitutes,  in  poor  soil,  and  on  the  edges  of  swamps 
and  drowned  lands,  one  of  the  most  formidable  and  impenetrable 
of  forest-walls ;  while  the  gall-bushes,  which  are  apt  to  associate 
with  it,  mass  themselves  together  with  a  luxuriance  of  top  which 


82  WOODCRAFT. 

effectually  closes  every  aperture  of  sight.  Beneath  them  the 
hear  and  wolf,  of  the  wilder  regions,  or  the  hog  and  wild-cat  in 
the  more  civilized,  find  their  way,  making  the  only  avenues  of 
egress  and  entrance ;  and  these  of  a  sort  to  require  the  hunter 
of  them  to  crouch  almost  to  their  four-footed  levels,  with  his  feet 
half  the  time  buried  from  sight  in  mud-puddles,  while  his  hands 
labor  incessantly  in  pushing  the  thick  masses  of  shrubbery  from 
his  eyes. 

Poor  Arthur  grew  monstrous  impatient  in  this  gloomy  abode. 
Fortunately,  the  season  had  been  dry,  and  he  had  no  inconveni 
ences  to  endure  beyond  those  of  restraint.  But,  to  a  youth  of 
his  eager  and  restless  temperament,  this  restraint  was  the  worst 
of  evils.  His  horizon  was  within  reach  of  his  grasp.  The  great 
trees  above  shut  out  the  heavens.  The  wall  of  shrubbery  about 
him  left  him  no  other  objects  of  survey  but  the  one  monotonous 
wilderness  of  dull,  green  waste  ;  and  it  was  only  by  squatting  and 
crouching  almost  to  the  earth,  that  he  could  pierce  to  the  dis 
tance  of  a  few  yards  along  the  dark  and  sinuous  beast-paths  that 
ran  below  —  the  highways  of  deer,  and  bear,  of  fox,  and  'coon, 
and  'possum. 

But  Fordham  was  not  long  absent.  Soon  the  faint  hooting 
of  the  owl  was  heard,  and  suddenly  the  youth  discovered  the 
overseer  within  a  few  paces  of  him,  winding  along  beneath  the 
bushes  like  a  black  snake,  seemingly  without  motion,  and  cer 
tainly  without  noise.  The  stealthiness  of  his  approach  caused 
the  young  man  to  start.  His  enemies,  approaching  with  such 
facility,  would  have  fatally  surprised  him.  He  learned  a  new 
lesson  of  woodcraft,  and  his  humility  increased  with  his  caution, 
in  the  growing  conviction  that  he  had  a  great  deal  yet  to  learn 
—  a  fact  which  fast  young  persons  are  very  unwilling  to  believe, 
and  rarely  discover  for  themselves,  unless  with  the,  penalty  of 
frequent  bruises. 

"  They're  travelling,  I'm  sure,"  quoth  Fordham,  with  evident 
anxiety.  "  They're  not  idle,  I  could  take  my  Bible  oath  ;  — but 
\vhar'  ?  That's  the  question  !  They  make  no  signs.  They're, 
fox-bred,  all  of  them,  and  are  now  winding  about  in  the  woods, 
without  turning  up  a  leaf.  We  shall  have  to  git  closer  into  the 
swamp,  Master  Arthur,  and  put  some  good-sized  pond  on  the 
back  of  us,  so  that,  if  they  find  us,  they'll  have  to  take  us  in 


LESSONS   IN"   WOODCRAFT.  88 

front.  Then  we  kin  manage ;  only,  yon  must  let  me  tell  yon 
when  to  shoot.  Ef  we  throw  away  another  shot,  it's  next  to 
throwing  a  scalp  along  with  it,  and  I'd  rather  not  part  with 
mine;  and  I'll  die  hard,  Arthur,  before  I  see  them  finger 
your'n."  • 

The  youth  caught  the  hand  of  the  overseer,  and  pressed  it 
warmly,  but  without  speaking. 

"  We  must  back  out  of  these  '  hurrah-bushes,'  and  git  upon 
the  tnssocky  places,  among  the  pines.  Jest  now,  do  you  follow 
me  close ;  I  reckon  we  kin  go  ahead  boldly  in  this  quarter, 
sence  it's  ^possible  that  these  rascallions  kin  have  got  quite  to 
these  parts.  Here,  away,  and  don't  be  o^easy." 

"  But  my  mother,  Fordham  !" 

"Well,  we  shall  push  for  one  side  of  the  same  swamp  that 
you  told  her  to  make  for.  As  I  told  you,  I'd  a'most  rether  that 
she  shouldn't  be  with  us ;  for,  though  she's  a  mighty  strong- 
hearted  lady,  your  mother,  yet  there  is  no  answering  for  any 
woman  in  a  sudden  bloody  skrimmage,  with,  maybe,  sharp 
shooting,  and  a  wild  Ingin-shouting  at  the  same  time  going  on. 
There's  no  telling  what  sort  of  supper  these  fellows  mean  to  get 
ready  for  us.  Stoop  a  bit,  now,  Mister  Arthur,  and  keep  close 
to  the  bushes ;  we've  got  to  cross  a  leetle  rising  ground  jest 
here,  before  we  reach  the  swamp." 

They  were  moving  pretty  quickly  over  this  track,  when,  see 
ing  Arthur  a  little  too  erect,  the  woodman  caught  his  wrist  and 
pulled  him  down. 

"Squat  —  close  —  quite  now — es  [as]  you  are!"  said  Ford- 
ham,  in  a  whisper.  "  Hist  now,  don't  you  hear1?" 

"Nothing!     What  is  it?" 

"  There  was  a  whistle,  jest  there  to  the  right — hist !  Again ! 
Don't  you  hear  it  ?" 

Arthur  fancied  he  did  hear  something  like  a  whistle,  but 
added — 

"It's  a  bird's,  Foidham." 

"  Ay  —  but  a  sort  of  bird  that's  born  without  feathers,  Arthur ! 
Creep,  now — hands  and  knees  —  and  take  care  not  to  jostle  a 
bush  —  a  leetle  more  this  way.  We  must  make  for  them  cy 
presses,  jest  ahead  ;  there  is,  likely,  a  pond  behind  them,  and 
we'll  put  it  to  the  back  of  us." 


84  WOODCRAFT. 

All  this  was  said  in  a  whisper.  The,  two  moved  forward  , 
Arthur  exerting  all  his  will  in  subduing  the  eager  anxieties  that 
diffused  a  feverish  glow  over  his  whole  system.  He  was  almost 
breathless  when  Fordham  paused,  on  the  edge  of  a  small  twict 
of  soft  ooze,  which  indicated  the  tea-minus  of  the  little  rising 
ground  over  which  they  had  been  crossing. 

"  Now,"  said  the  latter,  still  in  a  whisper,  "  we'll  work  round 
this  little  ooze,  and  git  upon  the  tussock  among  them  big  cy 
presses.  There  are,  you  see,  some  bay  bushes  jest  in  front  of 
them,  which  will  do  to  cover  us.  We  must  still  crawl,  for  that 
whistle  is  a  little  nigher  than  you  reckon,  and  we  must  use  all 
our  caution." 

He  led  the  way  in  the  manner  he  described.  Never  did  fel 
low,  carrying  two  rifles,  exhibit  such  agility.  Arthur  could 
scarce  conceive,  though  he  beheld  it,  how  the  thing  was  done. 
He  foundjiis  one  rifle,  though  a  short  one,  and  his  pistols,  a  suf 
ficient  burden,  pursuing  such  a  progress,  and,  half  the  time,  in  a 
crouching,  or  crawling  attitude.  But  one  of  the  rifles  carried  by 
Fordham,  was  the  German  yager,  short,  and  with  a  strap  at 
tached,  which  the  overseer  contrived  to  bind  pretty  close  to  his 
body,  and  beneath  it,  when  he  crawled ;  the  stock  being  just 
under  his  left  shoulder.  His  right  hand  grasped  the  long  rifle, 
which  he  held  above  the  ground.  The  two  soon  reached  the 
designated  tussock,  and  crouched  quietly  behind  the  bay  or 
laurel  bushes. 

"  Now,"  said  Fordham,  "  let  us  reprime.  I  reckon  we've  spilt 
the  powder  from  our  pans." 

He  himself  lifted  the  cover  of  his  rifle  pan  with  great  delibe 
ration  ;  But  the  incautious  Arthur  threw  his  open  without  heed, 
suffering  the  click  to  be  sufficiently  heard. 

"Ah!  Mister  Arthur,"  whispered  the  woodman,  reproach  fully, 
"  that  will  never  do.  You've  got  a  mighty  deal  to  1'arn.  That 
click  kin  be  heard  jest  as  far  as  the  whistle  of  that  ere  bird. 
One  talks  to  the  other  so  as  he  kin  owderstand.  In  these 
swamp  woods,  so  still  as  they  are  now,  I  kin  hear  the  click  of  a 
rifle  fifty  yards,  and  ef  I'm  not  mightily  mistaken,  these  scamps 
can  hear  it  too.  We'll  try  'em  !  Now  —  are  you  primed  ?" 

"  I  am." 

"  Jest  then  give  me  your  cap.    Lie  close  now,  and  keep  ready 


THE    FAT    TURKEY    WALKS    INTO    ^HE    TRAP.  85 

We'll  just  draw  their  shot,  ef  so  be  they're  in  rifle  distance. 
You'll  see  what  eyes  these  'fellows  have  for  an  inimy.  ef  so  be 
they've  got  round,  as  I'm  thinking  they  hev',  to  the  edges  of  the 
swamp." 

He  elevated  the  cap  upon  the  rod  of  his  gun,  just  beside  one 
of  the  cypresses,  showing  the  cap  only,  above  a  bunch  of  laurel. 
Scarcely  had  he  done  so,  when  the  report  of  a  rifle  was  heard. 
The  rod  was  lowered  instantly;  the  cap  was  untouched  —  tho 
aim  had  been  six  inches  below  it  —  and  the  ripping  of  the  bul 
let  through  the  bark  of  the  cypress,  showed  how  narrow  would 
have  been  the  escape  of  a  man  occupying  the  same  position. 

"  You  see  !     The  cussed  sknnks  !" 

"  Can't  we  get  a  crack  at  them,  Fordham  ?" 

"  Ef  we  could,  I'd  say  take  it ;  but  lie  close,  and  keep  your 
fire.  I'll  r/conn'itre." 

And  the  shrewd  woodman  crept  away  down  the  bank-side 
and  disappeared.  Arthur  soon  lost  sight  of  his  person  among 
the  bushes  on  the  right,  and  everything  remained  as  still  as  if 
the  region  had  never  been  inhabited. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE    FAT   TURKEY    WALKS    INTO   THE   TRAP. 

WHILE  the  youth  remained,  thus,  perdue,  confused  and  impa 
tient,  but,  by  this  time,  fully  tutored  in  the  necessity  of  keeping 
quiet  and  watchful  where  he  had  been  placed,  ten  minutes  might 
have  passed  ;  to  him  seemingly  a  good  half  hour.  He  was  sud 
denly  awakened  to  increased  agitation  and  anxiety,  by  hearing 
a  second  rifle-shot  about  twenty  paces  on  his  right.  He  con 
ceived,  rightly,  that  this  shot  was  from  the  overseer,  and  eagerly 
began  to  anticipate  the  necessity,  himself,  of  taking  part  of  the 
action.  But  a  deep  silence  again  followed,  and  ten  minutes 
more  may  have  elapsed,  when  he  was  suddenly  conscious  of  a 
sound  among  the  bushes  as  of  a  stick  broken.  He  turned  his 
eyes  in  this  quarter,  gauged  it  with  his  rifle,  and,  though  ex- 


86  AOODCRAFT. 

pecting  Fordham,  stood  prepared  to  meet  an  enemy.  He  was 
reassured  by  a  chirp,  not  louder  than  that  of  the  cricket  from  a 
split-log,  and  the  next  moment  the  overseer  glided  up  the  bank. 

"  You  shot !     What  have  you  done  ?" 

"  Nothing  much,  I  reckon  !  I  didn't  expect  to  do  much,  but 
mostly  to  give  the  skunks  an  idee  that  we  were  in  different 
camps,  and  that  they  couldn't  git  at  one  fairly,  without  putting 
themselves  in  the  way  of  eating  the  bullets  of  the  other.  I  was 
tempted,  as  I  seed  a  little  motion  in  a  heap  of  tallow-bushes ; 
and,  as  I  reckoned  that  was  pretty  much  about  the  spot  where 
their  shot  come  from,  I  kept  my  eye  upon  it,  and  when  I  saw 
the  top  of  the  bush  move  again,  I  aimed  pretty  low  down  and 
blazed  a  way.' 

"  Well  ?" 

"  Nothing  come  of  it,  so  far  as  I  seed !  I  reckon  I  was  a 
Icetlc  too  quick  on  the  trigger,  jest  like  a  younger  person,  Ar 
thur.  But  let  us  slip  down  this  bank,  and  get  farther  along  up 
the  swamp." 

"  But  when  you  drew  their  fire,  by  the  cap,  Fordham,  why 
didn't  you  offer  for  a  rush  at  them  ?" 

"  How  was  I  to  know  how  many -rifles  they  had,  with  mouths 
full  of  bullets  still  1  No  !  no  !  Master  Arthur  ;  —  we  are  but  two, 
and  they  are  five,  may  be  —  certainly  four — and  ef  thar's  to  be 
a  rush  made,  why  they  are  the  proper  persons  to  take  the  rcsk. 
We  must  resk  nothing.  We're  on  the  defensive,  all  the  time. 
What  we  must  aim  at  is  to  sarcumvent  them.  We  must  fetch 
another  compass,  and  change  ground  constantly." 

Having,  by  this  time,  reloaded  his  discharged  rifle,  Fordham 
led  the  way  for  his  young  companion.  Creeping  along  the 
hedge  of  laurel,  but  not  so  near  it  as  to  disturb  a  sprig,  the  two 
glided  down  the  tussock,  and  soon  made  their  way  into  the 
deeper  shelter  of  the  swamp.  They  now  moved  steadily  up 
ward,  aiming,  though  by  a  circuitous  progress,  in  the  direction 
of  the  creek  where  Fordham  was  surprised  in  the  opening  of 
the  affair.  While  thus  moving,  let  us  look  into  the  camp  of  the 
enemy,  and  pierce  their  policy,  if  possible. 

We  need  not  detail  the  several  fetches  by  which  the  two  ban 
dits,  Bostwick  and  Ralph  Burke,  approached  the  point  where  we 
find  them.  Their  route,  like  that  of  the  party  we  have  hitherto 


THE    FAT   TURKEY    WALKS   INTO    THE   TRAP.  87 

iccompanied,  1ms  been  a  circuitous  one  —  in  recognition  of  the 
/ital  necessity,  which  existed,  that  they  should  not  unadvisedly 
happen  upon  their  foes.  A  proper  knowledge  of  woodcraft,  led 
Bostwick  and  Burke  readily  to  conjecture  what  would  be  the 
game  practised  by  Fordham.  They  aimed,  accordingly,  to  ac 
complish  a  circuit  so  sufficiently  wide,  as  to  bring  them,  finally, 
in  the  rear  of  the  overseer,  no  matter  how  much  the  compass 
he,  too,  might  have  allowed  himself  in  the  desire  to  attain  a  sim 
ilar  object.  In  this  progress,  they  measurably  accomplished 
their  aims;  and,  but  for  the  retreat  to  the  "Hurrah"  and  "gall 
berry  bushes,"  and  the  short  pause  of  the  overseer  and  Arthur 
in  that  place  of  refuge,  they  would,  probably,  have  arrived  at 
better  opportunies  than  those  which  they  enjoyed. 

It  was  while  fully  conscious,  from  certain  discoveries  which 
they  had  made,  that  the  fugitives  were  nearly  within  striking 
distance,  that  the  two  outlaws  hid  themselves  for  awhile ;  keep 
ing  a  sharp  watch,  rifle  in  hand,  within  twenty  paces  of  each 
other.  Their  instincts  led  them  to  divine  that  Fordham  would 
seek  the  cover  of  the  swamp  ;  —  and,  upon  this  region  they  kept 
their  eyes,  from  the  centre  of  that  elevated  ground  over  which 
the  overseer  had  so  cautiously  crept,  leading  his  inexperienced 
associate.  While  lurking  and  watching  thus,  the  eyes  of  Burke 
were  the  first  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  youth's  cap  elevated 
above  a  clump  of  laurel.  The  bait  took  and  he  fired ;  to  the 
great  annoyace  of  Bostwick,  Avho  had  seen  it  also,  and  had  sus 
pected  the  ruse.  The  parties  rejoined,  a  moment  after  this  shot, 
and,  with  a  brief  wrangle  in  respect  to  it,  separated  as  before, 
and  once  more  shrouded  themselves  among  the  myrtle  and  tal 
low  bushes.  It  was,  while  recovering  this  position,  that  Bost- 
\vick  drew  the  fire  of  Fordham ;  —  suffering  a  narrow  escape, 
the  bullet  actually  cutting  the  cape  of  his  coat,  and  razing  the 
skin  of  his  shoulder  as  if  a  cowhide  had  been  laid  on  with  a  will. 
The  fellow  writhed  under  the  smart,  but  made  no  other  move 
ment,  and,  after  a  brief  pause  of  watch,  in  the  hope  that  the  secret 
enemy,  whose  bullet  he  had  escaped,  presuming  on  a  more  fatal 
result,  would  show  himself,  he  readily  conjectured,  from  his 
forbearance  to  do  so,  that  he  had  changed  his  ground.  But  he 
waited  still  awhile  longer;  then,  as  all  continued  silent,  he 
whistled  to  Burke,  who  answered  him  from  his  place  of  shelter 


88  WOODCRAFT. 

aiid  both  drew  backward,  crawling  away  in  snake-fashion,  and 
scarcely  stirring  the  foliage  which  had  given  them  shelter. 

"  We  can't  play  these  cards  too  nicely,"  said  Bostwick  to 
Burke,  as  they  went  some  yards  in  the  rear  of  their  late  position, 
and  with  the  "hurrah-bushes"  effectually  concealing  them  from 
sight.  "  This  chap,  Fordham,  is  a  whole  team  of  foxes,  and  no 
mistake !  We  must  git  across  the  road,  and  push  down  quick 
for  the  swamp  on  that  side  —  cross  the  creek  and  road  at  the 
same  time,  and  come  in  on  'em  from  that  quarter." 

The  plan  was  agreed  on,  and  at  once  put  in  execution.  Once 
in  the  forest,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  road,  the  two  bandits 
made  rapid  progress  upward  ;  reaching  the  margin  of  the  swamp 
in  which,  as  we  have  seen,  the  widow  Eveleigh  had  previously 
taken  shelter,  very  nearly  as  soon  as  Fordham  and  young  Arthur. 
But  a  considerable  space  now  lay  between  the  latter  and  their 
hunters,  destined,  however,  to  be  rapidly  overcome,  as  the  over 
seer  and  his  companion  were  also  bending  their  steps  toward  the 
same  creek  which  the  bandits  are  now  crossing.  Once  on  the 
opposite  side,  the  two  latter  struck  into  the  swamp,  proposing 
to  pursue  the  course  of  the  creek  which  wound  through  it,  and 
place  themselves  in  ambush  among  the  willows  and  laurels  by 
which  it  was  skirted.  But  they  had  not  gone  far,  preserving 
the  caution  which  had  hitherto  marked  their  movements,  when 
they  discovered  such  proof  of  the  near  neighborhood  of  other 
parties,  as  made  them  momently  forgetful  of  Fordham.  The 
anxieties  of  the  widow  Eveleigh,  in  respect  to  her  son,  had  made 
her  unwilling  to  leave  him,  while  there  was  any  prospect  of  his 
suffering  from  an  encounter  with  his  foes.  Though  she  had 
crossed  the  creek,  and  had  consented  to  go  forward  on  her  route 
— keeping  still  the  cover  of  the  wood,  under  the  guidance  of 
Jenny,  the  servant-maid  —  yet  with  a  fearful  fascination,  which 
she  could  not  withstand,  did  she  again  return  upon  her  own 
^ootsteps.  Her  track,  going,  had  been  detected  in  the  soft  ooze 
along  the  margin  of  the  creek.  It  was  followed  instantly  by 
the  outlaws. 

"  Let  us  but  git  our  hand  on  her  ag'in,"  quoth  Bostwick,  "  and 
we'll  git  a  purchase  on  her  son  and  Fordham." 

Such  was  the  cold-blooded  calculation. 


THE    FAT    TUItKKY    WALKS    INTO    THE   TRAP.  89 

"Right!"  responded  Burke.     "Son  or  mother,  the  one  kin 

always  be  made  to  sell  out  for  the  other." 

"  That's  jest  as  they  have  vartue  and  nateral  affection.  These 
will  do  it  —  but,  let  me  tell  you,  'tain't  the  case  with  many 
hundred  others.  'Gad !  there's  some  people  that'd  rether  sell 
mother  and  grandmother,  and  son  and  grandson,  then  give  up 
the  hair  of  a  nigger,  or  the  shine  of  a  dollar.  I've  known  many 
of  that  sort  —  but  it's  no  use  to  talk.  There's  man-beasts, 
Burke — wolf  and  tiger,  fox  and  skunk,  'coon  and  'possum, 
snake  and  spider — who  don't  know  no  law  but  jest  to  strike 
and  swallow  —  and  makes  snares  and  steal,  when  they  can't 
strike ;  and  run,  rether  than  fight,  for  their  thievings  !  I  don't 
know,  old  fellow,  but  we  b'longs  to  some  one  of  these  breeds, 
ourselves ;  and  we'd  be  bad  enough,  ef  we  wa'n't  willing  to 
resk  our  lives  as  well  as  our  honesty.  There's  one  I  know, 
but » 

« who  r 

•'  Never  mind — he's  one  who  would  cut  his  inimy's  throat 
with  your  knife  or  mine,  and  take  his  neighbor's  money  with 
our  hands;  he's  —  but  no  matter.  Now,  this  widow  and  her 
son  are  of  the  true  grit  —  people  of  r«al  blood ;  and  raal  Mood, 
Burke,  is  a  vartue  by  itself,  and  by  natur'.  They'd  die  for  one 
another !" 

"  We  won't  hurt  'em,  Bostwick  ?" 

"  That's  as  it  happens.  We  don't  know  what  we  may  hev' 
t.)  do.  One  must  help  himself,  no  matters  who  he  hurts !  We 
must  use  one  of  'em  to  bring  the  other  to  reason.  So  —  stop! 
—hist!" 

The  two  crouched  instinctively  into  cover. 

"  The  turkey's  walking  straight  into  trap  !"  quoth  Bostwick. 

A  whisper  between  the  parties,  and  they  stole  off,  still  under 
cover,  in  different  directions.  A  few  moments  only  had  elapsed, 
when  Bostwick  laid  his  hand  on  the  unconscious  shoulder  of  the 
widow  Eveleigh,  taking  her  by  surprise,  while  the  fingers  of 
Burke  griped  Jenny,  the  servant-maid,  rathe*-  tenderly  than 
otherwise,  about  the  nape  on  her  neck. 

"  Jest  taking  a  leetle  liberty,  my  lady,"  said  Bostwick,  hi  a 
gruff  and  disguised  voice. 

She-started  and  shuddered,  but  submitted  with  dignity ;  vexed 


90  WOODCRAFT. 

to  the  soul,  and  humbled,  that,  once  free  from  his  clutches,  she 
had  not  followed  the  instructions  of  her  son  and  the  overseer, 
and  pushed  rapidly  from  the  scene  of  danger.  She  felt,  in  an 
instant,  all  the  advantage  that  her  second  captivity  would 
afford  to  the  enemy.  Jenny,  the  servant-maid,  was  overwhelmed 
with  her  terrors,  and  screamed,  and  continued  to  scream,  until 
the  enraged  Burke,  throwing  her  to  the  ground,  crammed  her 
distended  jaws  with  moss  enough  to  make  an  infant's  mattress. 

"  I  must  take  the  liberty,  ma'am,  of  giving  your  arms  a  hitch 
as  I  did  before,  but,  this  time,  you  must  walk  with  me.  I  sha'n't 
leave  you  a  second  time  out  of  sight." 

"  What  is  your  design  upon  me,  sir  ?  Speak  out !  If  it  is 
money — you  are  already  in  possession  of  all  I  have  about  me. 
—  If  you  require  more  for  my  ransom,  and  that  of  my  friend, 
say  so,  and  if  it  can  be  procured,  I  will  consent  to  any  sum, 
sooner  than  submit  to  this  treatment!" 

"  Directly,  ma'am  ;  —  that's  for  afterward.  But,  jest  now,  you 
must  foot  it  along  with  me.  Quick,  ma'am,  I've  got  no  time  to 
waste." 

"  But  whither  must  we  go  ?" 

"  Back  to  your  carnage  !  I  reckon  we'll  put  you  in  it,  right 
away,  and  send  you  home  safe  enough,  after  a  leetle  while.— 
That's  ef  you  ain't  obstropolus." 

"  Who  are  you  ?" 

"  A  wolf,  ma'am,  or  a  tiger,  ef  you  axes  after  my  family  and 

name.     Come,  ma'am,  walk,  or  by  I'll  lace  you  with  a 

hickory.     I  will,  by  thunder!" 

This  was  plain  language  enough.  The  widow  bestowed  but 
a  single  glance  of  her  large  blue  eye  upon  the  ruffian,  calm  and 
strong,  under  the  threat  and  indignity  ;  then  quietly  moved  for 
ward  in  the  direction  which  she  was  bidden  to  take.  What  was 
only  a  threat  in  the  case  of  the  widow,  became  an  experience  in 
that  of  the  servant-maid.  Gagged  and  on  the  ground,  she  reso 
lutely  refused  to  rise,  till  the  enraged  Burke,  cutting  a  rod  from 
a  neighboring  bush,  laid  it  thrice  over  her  shoulders.  The  argu 
ment  proved  sufficient,  and  she  set  forward  with  a  speed  that 
was  studiously  calculated  to  leave  a  space  of  five  feet  or  more 
between  herself  and  assailant ;  who  still  continued  to  threaten 
with  the  rod  which  he  found  no  longer  necessary  to  use^in  any 


SKIRMISHING.  91 

other  way.  Again  the  party  sped  across  the  creek,  and  into  the 
opposite  forest,  making  rapid  progress,  and  keeping  vigilant  eye 
upon  the  road  which  separated  them  from  those  woods,  in  the 
unknown  retreats  of  which  Fordham  and  young  Arthur  con 
tinued  to  find  shelter,  and  where  it  was  very  well  known  they 
lurked  and  watched.  Let  us  now  return  to  them. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

SKIRMISHING. 

THE  overseer  and  his  young  companion,  having  struck  some 
what  deeper  into  the  swamp,  were  necessarily  compelled  to 
make  a  considerable  circuit  in  approaching  the  point  where 
the  outlaws  had  succeeded  in  recapturing  Mrs.  Eveleigh.  The 
swamp,  of  irregular  figure,  thrust  out  a  huge  horn  between  the 
parties,"  the  extent  of  which  Fordham  had  not  calculated.  This 
was  always  pretty  full  of  water,  and  not  passable,  except  with 
great  difficulty  and  inconvenience.  The  two  were  on  one  side  of 
this  horn,  or  arm  of  the  swamp,  itself  a  lake  —  while  the  outlaws 
skirted  the  other — the  creek  being  between  the  parties  also  — 
when  the  screams  of  the  servant-maid  of  the  widow  smote 
sharply  on  the  ears  of  our  .wanderers.  The  first  instincts  of 
Arthur  led  him  naturally  to  suppose  that  the  cries  were  from  his 
mother. 

"My  poor  mother!"  he  exclaimed,  passionately.  "They 
have  found  her,  Fordham.  Hear  !  It  is  she  !  These  are  her 
screams.  They  are  ill-treating  her." 

"I  don't  think!"  returned  the  other,  with  interest,  but  still 
calmly.  "  Don't  be  scared,  Arthur.  I  reckon  they've  found 
your  mother,  and  have  made  her  a  prisoner  agin,  though  she 
ought,  by  this  time,  to  have  been  a  mile  farther  on  the  road. 
But  'tain't  Jier  that  you  hear  a-screaming.  It's  Jenny,  the  gal; 
I  reckon.  Mrs.  Eveleigh  ain't  the  lady  to  scream,  I'm  thinking. 
It  ain't  like  her." 

"But  are  -\ve  to  stand  here,  Fordham,  when  there's  no  know 
ing  what  those  villains  are  after'/" 


92  WOODCUAFT. 

"  That  we  must  try  and  see,  Arthur.  We  must  push  on, 
that's  sartain ;  but  we  mus'n't  push  on  any  faster  than  we've 
been  doing.  The  only  way  to  .save  her,  and  to  save  ourselves, 
is  jest  to  play  scout  tell  we  kin  git  some  advantage.  Jest  you 
leave  the  thing  to  me,  and  ef  so  be  we're  to  work  out  of  this 
trouble  with  whole  bones,  it's  only  by  showing  not  a  white  of 
the  eye  to  these  skunks,  until  we  kin  speak  to  'em  safely  by 
the  mouth  of  the  rifle.  Let':,  push  on,  along  the  edge  of  this 
lagoon,  as  we're  a-doing.  It'll  bring  us  out  upon  the  road  after 
awhile,  and  we'll  see.  Now  that  these  rascals  have  got  your 
mother,  as  I  reckon,  they'll  not  be  able  to  work  their  way 
through  the  woods  so  easy  as  afore." 

The  youth  felt  that  everything  must  be  left  to  Fordham,  in 
whose  ingenuity  and  courage,  as  well  as  fidelity,  he  had  full 
confidence,  and  the  two  pushed  forward,  still  with  great,  caution, 
worming  their  way  along  the  edge  of  the  -swamp,  Fordham 
taking  the  lead  with  equal  energy  and  circumspection.  They 
reached,  in  this  way,  the  road,  just  where  the  creek  crossed  it, 
and  there  Fordham  halted. 

"Now,"  said  he,  "Arthur,  do  you  keep  close  here  in  this  covar 
while  I  take  an  observation  of  the  country.  I'll  be  gone  only  a 
leetle  while." 

lie  was  gone  somewhat  longer  than  he  himself  had  antici 
pated,  and  young  Eveleigh  was  getting  quite  impatient,  when 
the  overseer  suddenly  reappeared..  His  countenance  was  grave 
and  anxious. 

"Well,  Mr.  Fordham!  my  mother?"  demanded  Arthur. 

"  Them's  mighty  sharp  rascals,  Mister  Arthur,"  replied  the 
overseen*-  "  They've  got  back  to  the  carriage,  and  they've  put 
your  mother  and  the  gal  into  it.  But  there's  no  scaring  the 
scamps.  They've  put  your  mother  on  the  seat  of  the  driver, 
and  they've  tied  her  to  it,  and  the  gal's  tied  inside.  Besides, 
they've  carried  off  the  two  horses." 

The  youth  gnashed  his  teeth. 

"You've  seen  her  then — my  mother?" 

"  Yes  !  she's  put  so  that  we  could  see  her,  —  the  d d  var 
mints  !  By  that  I  know'd  they're  on  the  watch  for  us.  They 
think  that  when  we've  seed  her,  and  not  them,  we'll  be  such 


SKIRMISHING.  93 

blind  buzzards  as  to  show  ourselves.     But  I  see  the  trap  as  well 
as  the  cheese.     We'll  not  take  the  bait,  Arthur." 

"  How  do  you  know  she's  tied  V 

"  I  reckon  so  from  the  way  she  sits,  though  I  didn't  go  nigh 
enough  to  see.  I  calculate  that  these  scamps  are  lying  on  both 
sides  of  the  carriage,  close  in  the  bush,  with  their  eyes  running 
close  along  their  rifle-barrels.  They  know  we're  between  them 
and  the  creek.  Now,  as  that's  the  case,  our  first  business  is 
to  work  round  on  t'other  side.  We  must  take  another  fetch 
through  the  woods." 

"  Let's  be  moving,  then,"  said  the  youth,  impatiently. 

And  the  overseer  struck  out  at  right  angles,  as  if  wholly  leav 
ing  the  road.  He  pursued  this  course  for  a  while,  with  a  com 
paratively  swift  motion,  and,  after  compassing  a  couple  of  hun 
dred  yards  which  brought  them  once  more  upon  the  swamp,  he 
turned  suddenly  to  the  left,  and  took  a  route  parallel  with  the 
road,  which  he  followed  witli  little  variation  for  about  thrice  the 
distance.  Then,  making  another  turn  to  the  left,  he  made  his 
way  forward,  seeking  a  point  near  the  highway,  but  at  some 
distance  in  the  rear  of  the  carriage.  When  he  caught  sight  of 
these  objects,  which  taught  him  to  believe  he  had  gone  suffi 
ciently  far,  he  restrained  his  youthful  companion.  They  both 
crouched,  and  went  forward,  steadily  keeping  under  cover  of  the 
shrubs,  bushes,  and  long  grass  which  covered  this  region.  After 
a  brief  space  consumed  in  this  way,  during  which  they  had 
drawn  nigher  to  the  carriage,  Fordham  paused  and  whispered 
to  Arthur. 

"  Now  you  lie  down  snug.  Ef  I  calculate  rightly,  these  skunks 
are  now  within  reach  of  a  long-tongued  rifle.  I  reckon  that  one 
lies  on  t'other  side  of  the  road  among  them  oak-bushes,  and  in 
that  tall  dry  grass.  The  other  is,  I'm  thinking,  on  this  side  of 
the  road,  somewhere  among  them  water-myrtle  and  willow 
bushes.  Do  you  see  your  mother  in  the  front  seat  of  the 
carriage  ?" 
"Yes!" 

"  Well,  I  reckon  ef  she  could  speak,  she  could  tell  us  jest 
where  these  critters  harbor.  They're  on  a  sharp  lookout  for 
us  now  from  above.  But  we're  licrv.  Arthur,  and  its  always 
half  the  battle  when  your  inirny  don't  know  where  to  look  for 


94  WOODCUAFl. 

you,  and  when  you  can  reasonably  p'int  your  finger  and  say, 
'Thar  lie  is!'-  Look  back,  Arthur,  and  see  ef  there's  anybody 
in  the  shape  of  a  white  man  nigh  the  wagon." 

"  I  see  the  negroes  only,  and  only  half  of  them,  I  reckon." 
"  Well,  ef  I  could  only  tell  how  many  of  these  chaps  was 
here  in  front  of  us ;  but  whether  one  or  a  dozen,  there's  no  help 
for  it  now  but  patience.     Keep  you  quiet  now,  while  I  do  a  little 
making" 

And,  so  speaking,  the  \voodman  ciept  forward,  close  to  the 
ground,  frequently  pausing  to  listen,  and  sometimes  raising  him 
self,  whenever  a  sufficiently  dense  cover  enabled  him  to  do  so 
with  safety.  In  this  way  he  continued  to  advance,  until  a  space 
of  thirty  or  forty  yards  alone  remained  between  himself  and  the. 
carriage.  He  was  still  pursuing  this  serpent-like  progress,  when 
Arthur  suddenly  heard  his  mother's  voice,  the  tones  eager,  and 
full  of  anxiety  and  agitation. 

"  Beware  Arthur — beware  Fordham  !  You  are  seen  !  Your 
enemies  watch  you!" 

Fordham  was  down  in  an  instant,  but  Arthur,  excited  by  his 
mother's  voice,  on  the  same  instant,  raised  himself  to  his  knees, 
rifle  in  hand,  and  eyes  that  seemed  to  have  acquired  all  the  im 
penetrating  and  piercing  power  of  the  eagle.  Almost  in  the 
same  instant  a  shot  rang  through  the  Avoods,  which  whistled 
through  the  bush  beneath  which  Fordham  crouched,  rending 
the  leaves  and  twigs  immediately  above  his  head. 

"  Blast  you  !"  cried  Ralph  Burke,  who  had  fired,  addressing 
himself,  in  the  same  moment,  to  the  widow,  "  ef  I  hear  another 
word  out  of  your  head,  I'll  cut  your  tongue  out !" 

He  had  scarcely  spoken  from  his  bush  —  for  he  also  was  buried 
among  the  leaves  —  when  the  bush  was  seen  to  be  hurriedly 
agitated,  and  the  widow  heard  another  shot,  but  from  what 
quarter  she  could  not  conjecture.  It  was  her  son  that  fired. 

At  her  words,  which  had  called  him  up  from  his  crouching 
attitude,  he  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  flash  which  had  prece 
ded  the  shot  of  Burke,  and  obeying  his  impulse,  he  had  drawn 
trigger  at  the  same  moment  upon  the  spot  from  Avhence  it  issued. 
Me  knew  not  if  any  effect  had  ensued  from  his  fire,  for  a  deep 
silence  overspread  the  scene  ;  and  he  began  bitterly  to  reproach 
himself  with  the  precipitance  with  which  he  had  again  emptied 


THE    CONFEDERATES    CHANGE   Til  Kill   CAME.  ,) 

his  rifle  without  first  making  sure  of  his  object.  But,  had  he 
then  known  the  truth,  he  might  have  congratulated  himself  in 
the  language  of  Hamlet  —  "praised  be  rashness  for  it" — that  he 
had  obeyed  his  impulse  without  regard  to  the  seeming  impolicy 
3f  the  proceeding. 

'  Our  indiscretion  sometimes  serves  us  well, 
When  our  deep  plots  do  pall ;" 

and  so  it  was  in  the  present  instance.  The  almost  random  bul 
let  of  the  youth  had  buried  itself  in  the  brain  of  the  ruffian,  and, 
with  a  single  fearful  spasm,  he  lay  dead  beneath  the  cover  which 
had  lately  formed  his  ambush. 


CHAPTER    XVII 

THK  CONFEDERATES  CHANGE  THEIR  GAME  AND  WOULD  CLAW 

OFF. 

FROM  the  deep  silence  whicTi  covered  the  region,  one  might 
suppose  that  all  the  parties  had  suddenly  disappeared.  Mrs. 
Eveleigh  had  been  warned  to  silence  by  the  brutal  threat  of  the 
ruffian,  Burke  ;  and  having,  as  she  thought,  sufficiently  informed 
her  son  and  his  companion  of  the  proximity  of  enemies,  she  was 
not  unwilling  to  respect  the  warning.  She  knew  not  of  the  effect 
produced  by  her  son's  shot.  The  fact  that  it  was  fatal,  was  un 
known,  indeed,  to  any  of  the  parties.  Fordham  had  been  sud 
denly  made  more  than  ever  cautious  by  his  narrow  escape  from 
Burke's  bullet,  and  lay  in  supreme  quiet  in  the  bushes  which 
sheltered  him.  Young  Arthur  had  also  sunk  back  into  cover, 
quite  ashamed  of  his  own  (assumed)  rashness  and  indiscretion, 
and  congratulating  himself  that  he  had  not  drawn  the  enemy's 
fire  also. 

Bostwick,  in  the  meanwhile,  conscious  of  the  fact  which  Ford- 
ham  had  no  reason  to  suspect,  that  the  parties  were  now  equally 
matched,  and  that  all  his  hope  lay  in  the  excellence  of  his  own 
stratagem,  crouched  more  closely  than  ever  in  his  place  of  am 
buscade,  with  every  sense  quickened  by  the  feeling  that  he  had 


90  WOODCRAFT. 

an  enemy  before  him  who,  thus  far,  had  shown  himself  a  match 
for  him  in  Indian  artifice.  In  the  practice  of  woodcraft  he  was 
no\\r  willing  to  acknowledge  that  Fordham  was  quite  as  good  a 
man  as  himself.  Of  that  which  had  been  exercised  by  the  op 
ponents  respectively,  we  have  been  able  to  report  but  imper 
,-  fectly.  It  would  need  more  space  than  we  can  afford  to 
chronicle  minutely  those  details,  of  which  we  have  given  an  out 
line,  only.  The  fox-like  doublings,  the  snake-like  crawlings, 
the  subtlety,  stealth,  keen  sight,  and  foresight,  equally,  which 
had  been  shown  by  both  sides,  in  their  several  approaches  to 
and  recedings  from  each  other,  had  been  of  the  best  school  of 
stratagem,  as  practised  by  the  red-men  of  America.  The  little 
practice  of  our  (7 ram fi fix  persona  will,  on  a  small  scale,  exhibit 
the  characteristic  features  of  Indian  warfare,  which,  first  of  all, 
recognises  the  necessity  of  risking  nothing,  and  of  making  a 
clear  gain,  without  equivalent  loss  of  all  its  advantages.  Where 
the  number  is  so  small  on  both  sides,  the  first  necessity  is  tc 
economize  it.  Art  is  to  supersede  brute  valor.  No  perils  are  to 
be  incurred  except  in  cases  of  extreme  necessity,  and  when  the 
issue  of  main  force  is  absolutely  inevitable. 

In  the  present  instance,  Bostwick  and  Fordham  were  equally 
impressed  with  the  necessity  of  avoiding  loss.  Neither  dared 
show  himself,  with  the  view  to  an  assault,  or  any  bold  demon 
stration,  as  long  as  an  enemy  lay  concealed  and  on  the  watch, 
with  a  rifle -barrel  still  unemptied.  Thus,  accordingly,  after  the 
space  of  ten  or  fifteen  minutes  after  the  several  shots  of  Burke 
and  Arthur  had  been  delivered,  neither  of  the  parties  had  moved 
or  spoken. 

The  first  sounds  which  struck  the  ears  of  Fordham  and  Ar 
thur  were  the  faint  whistles  of  a  partridge.  The  latter,  in  his 
inexperience,  really  supposed  them  to  proceed  from  the  bird ; 
but  Fordham  knew  better.  He  now  held  his  breath,  if  possible 
to  distinguish 'from  what  precise  quarter  the  sound  had  issued. 
He  knew  it  to  be  a  signal.  It  was  repeated  at  slight  intervals, 
and  he  found  that  it  came  from  the  opposite  woods  —  the  car 
riage  being,  in  fact,  directly  between  himself  and  the  sound. 
He  supposed  it  to  be  forty  or  fifty  yards  distant.  Thrice  did  he 
hear  it,  and  always  from  the  same  precinct.  He  could  perceive 
no  answer  to  it.  Either,  therefore,  his  late*  assailant  was  nighei 


THE    CONFEDERATES    CHANGE    THEIR    GAME.  97 

to  him  than  lie  had  imagined,  and  therefore  dared  not  answer, 
or  he  had  succeeded  in  drawing  himself  off  from  the  scene  of 
action.  He  never  once  fancied  anything  so  agreeable,  but  so 
little  probable,  as  that  the  hasty  shot  of  Arthur  had  done  his 
lvasiness~.  But  the  conjecture  of  Bostwick  led  him  more  nearly 
to  the  truth.  The  failure  of  Burke  to  answer  his  signal  —  for  it 
was  his — filled  him  with  doubt  and  apprehensions.  He  repeated 
it  thrice,  as  had  been  agreed  upon  between  them,  and  listened 
vainly  for  the  reply.  He  at  once  reviewed  all  his  ground,  and, 
for  the  first  time,  began  to  lose  his  confidence  in  the  enterprise. 

"  I'm  jubous,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  "  that  Burke  has  got 
his  fodder !  There's  but  one  way  for  it,  and  that's  to  back  out. 
It's  l#gh  time.  Better  half  a  loaf  than  no  bread.  Six  niggers 
sure,  is  better  than  a  dozen,  with  a  ragged  bullet  to  chaw  into 
the  bargain.  I  must  shift  the  ground  —  git  .back  to  the  wagon, 
bring  the  boys  together,  and  take  what  we've  got." 

These  results  were  slowly  arrived  at.  Once  resolved  upon, 
the  execution  was  immediate.  Bostwick,  with  habitual  cunning 
and  caution,  withdrew  from  his  place  of  hiding,  drawing  back 
into  the  deeper  woods,  and  without  provoking  any  suspicion  of 
his  movement,  The  widow,  from  her  seat  in  the  front  of  the 
carriage,  and  who  without  actually  seeing  the  squatter  in  his 
place  of  ambush,  was  yet  aware  of  the  spot  in  which  he  harbored, 
was  totally  ignorant  of  his  departure.  Once  in  the  deep  thicket 
behind,  Bostwick  rose  to  his  feet,  and  sped  down  the  road  with 
all  possible  haste,  in  the  direction  of  the  wagon.  There,  nlso  in 
concealment,  he  found  his  colleague,  Norris,  who,  having  heard 
the  firing,  had  become  exceedingly  uneasy. 

"Well — how  goes  it,  Bosf?"  he  inquired,  as  the  other  drew 
to  his  side.  "  Where's  Burke  ?" 

"  Not  in  heaven,  I  reckon  !  Maybe  in  a  worse  place,  if  the 
preachers  know  anything  about  it." 

"  What  1     You  don't  mean—?" 

"I  reckon  he's  chawed  his  bullet.     He  don't  answer  the  call. 

That  (1 d  eternal  Ford  ham  !     They've  had  a  shot  apiece, 

and  the  widow  cried  out,  and  Burke,  like  a  bloody  fool,  must  git 
out  of  the  bush,  and  curse  her,  and  shake  his  fist  at  her,  and  so 
draw'd  the  inimy's  tire.  Sence  then,  he's  laid  quiet,  and  don't 
answer  to  the  call." 


98  WOODCRAFT. 

"But  you  ain't  sure?     You  hain't  seed  for  sartain  V' 

"  No  !  He  may  be  only  barked  a  lectle  ;  but  there's  no  tel 
ling.  [  durs'nt  ventur',  as  Fordham  still  keeps  close  !" 

"  And  what's  to  be  done  ?" 

"  Claw  off — that's  the  how  !  Take  what  we've  got  sure,  and 
be  off.  The  boys  not  in  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  they're  after  the  horses.  They  caught  another  of  th« 
niggpvs.  and  we've  tied  him  with  the  rest." 

"  Makes  seven  V 

"  Yes.'1 

'•  We  must  be  satisfied  with  that,  and  be  off.  It's  been  a 
niighty  hard  business,  and  I'm  getting  tired,  and  scary  too. 
We'll  be  having  somebody  upon  us,  ef  we  stay  much  Ifnger. 
Better  mount,  and  drive  the  niggers  we've  got,  and  make  for 
Dooley's  Cove.  We  ought  to  be  there  before  moonrise." 

"  But  don't  you  think  we  kin  git  something  out  of  the  wagon  ? 
A  jng  or  two  of  rum,  I'm  thinking,  and  ^>rrhaps  some  other  little 
fixings  that  we  kin  carry  on  the  saddle?" 

"  Well,  I  suppose  we  might  make  a  s'arch ;  but  you  mustn't 
be  Jong  about  it.  I  reckon  the  boys  hev'  got  the  horses  by  this 
time.  There's  been  nobody  to  bender,  this  time.  Where  did 
they  go  to  ?" 

"  Yonder,  in  the  open  piney  wood,  where  there's  grass,  I'm 
thinking.  It's  thar'  the  boys  went.  Hesh  —  thar' they  come, 
bringing  all  the  critters.  What  shall  we  do  about  Burke  T* 

"  Do  !  What  should  we  do  1  Mind  what  the  Scripter  tellf 
us- — '  Let  the  dead  bury  the  dead.'  " 

"  But  we  don't  know  that  he's  dead." 

"And  we  mus'n't  resk  the  life  of  a  live  man  to  find  out.  Ef 
he's  living,  ~£  reckon  lie  knows  what  to  do.  We'll  make  a  diver 
sion  in  his  favor,  and  he  kin  then  snake  away  to  the  swamp. 
Ef  he's  dead,  there's  an  eend  to  his  troubles,  and  we  kin  take, 
care  of  his  horse  among  us,  and  spend  his  share  of  the  money  ! 
Ain't  that  sense,  I  ax  you  ?" 

"  Right !     But  about  the  divarsion  ?" 

"Well,  look  you — these  chaps  —  this  overseer  Fordham  — 
d — n  his  quarters,  I  say  ! — he  and  the  young  chap  lie  about  the 
carriage  now,  a'most  within  pistol-shot.  I'll  put  myself  in  the 
thicket  thar'  "  —  (pointing  to  a  spot,  some  fifty  yards  farther  on 


THE   CONFEDERATES  CHANGE  THEift  GAME.  99 

the  road,  one  third  of  the  distance,  perhaps,  between  the  wagon 
and  the  carriage)  —  "and  jest  cover  the  track  with  my  riHe, 
while  you  s'arch  the  wagon.  Let  .Brydges  and  Tony  Hines 
lead  off  the  niggers.  Have  our  horses  ready  to  follow.  Tell 
V.m  to  take  the  woods  clowif  for  a  mile  or  so,  then  strike  into  the 
old  road  for  the  burnt  church  ;  we  can  push  a'ter  them  at  a 
.smart  gallop,  and  overtake  'em  any  time.  Anything  more?" 

"  No  !  go  ahead,  and  put  yourself  on  the  watch,  and  I'll  make 
the  s'arch.  We  must  pick  up  some  litte  vallyables,  if  we  kin." 

"  How's  your  arm  ?" 

"  Feels  a  little  numbish,  but  don't  hurt.  It's  only  a  skin 
transaction  !" 

"  Now,  don't  be  long  about  the  wagon  s'arch  j  and  don't  stoy 
to  try  the  liquor.  That's  your  danger,  Dick,  you  know." 

"  Psho  !   a  taste  kin  do  no  man  any  mischief." 

"  But  your  taste  is  never  less  than  a  swallow,  and  a  swallow, 
like  what  you  takes,  damages  mightily  the  sight-seeing  for  a 
rifle.  Be  quick,  now,  in  what  you  do,  for  the  sun's  lowering 
fast,  and  we've  been  too  long  a'ready  about  the  business." 

"  Be  off,  Bost,  and  keep  a  sharp  look  out.  I'll  take  care  of 
what  I'm  after." 

Thus  the  parties  separated.  A  few  moments  sufficed  to  put 
Bostwick  in  his  new  place  of  ambush,  covering  all  approaches 
from  the  direction  of  the  carriage ;  and  to  set  Norris  at  work  in 
exploring  the  contents  of  the  wagon.  The  two  confederates, 
meanwhile,  came  up  with  the  horses,  which  now,  with  one  ex 
ception,  had  all  been  safely  recovered.  The  negroes  were  then 
roped  together  as  they  were,  set  in  motion,  and  slowly  disap 
peared  from  the  road  ;  driven  before  the  two  outlaws  on  horse 
back.  The  movement  did  not  escape  the  keen  eyes  of  Fordham ; 
and  he  groaned,  in  the  bitterness  of  his  spirit,  as  he  beheld,  first 
a  box,  then  a  sack,  then  a  keg,  pitched  out  from  the  wagon,  as 
from  invisible  hands  within  the  vehicle. 

"Thar's  the  sugar,"  he  muttered;  "  thar's  the  coffee;  thar's 
the  kag  of  rum  !  The  varmints!  Lord,  ef  I  could  only  git  a 
sight  of  the  chap  that's  so  active — it's  not  quite  two  hundred 
yards  I  reckon — I'd  try  what  vartue's  in  a  good  rifle  at  longer 
shot  than  I  like  to  use  it  in  common  shooting.  But, 
what  can  be  done?" 


1 00  WOODCRAFT. 

The  soliloquy  reached  no  ears  but  his  own.  He  did  not  yet 
dare  to  speak  aloud,  or  to  show  any  sign  of  life.  The  very 
silence,  that  prevailed  around  him,  led  him  still  to  apprehend 
that  his  enemies  were  near  him,  and  still  on  the  watch  ;  jcvlrile 
Mrs.  Kveieigh,  still  bound,  and  still  in  sight,  preserved  the  quiet 
of  one  who  was  conscious  that  she  had  hostile  listeners. 

The  overseer  readily  conjectured  the  game  which  the  ruffians 
were  prepared  to  play.  He  saw  the  negroes  marched  off  by  two 
of  the  outlaws.  There  were  yet  three  as  he  conjectured,  with 
whom  he  had  to  contend.  Two  of  them  were  still,  he  supposed, 
in  the  precincts  of  the  carriage  ;  and  the  fifth  man  was  in  the 
wagon.  To  move  against  //.////,  or  to  attempt  to  pursue  the  tiro, 
with  the  negroes,  would  be  to  expose  himself  and  companion  to 
the  fire  of  the  two  whom  he  assumed  to  be  on  the  watch  for 
him.  He  was  thus  completely  masked,  and  felt  himself  bewil 
dered.  To  draw  off  from  this  dangerous  neighborhood  was  his 
best,  policy,  yet  he  dreaded  the  attempt  under  the  surceillan<.  * 
(as  he  supposed)  of  his  two  enemies.  We  must  add,  in  justice 
to  our  overseer,  that  his  chief  anxieties  were  on  account  of 
young  Arthur.  The  devoted  fellow  never  once  forgot  how  pre 
cious  in  the  mother's  eyes  was  the  safety  of  her  only  son.  To 
remain  quiet  still  longer,  and  wait  the  further  development  of 
the  schemes  of  the  highwaymen,  was  the  conclusion  to  which 
the  meditation  of  Fordham  conducted  him.  To  lie  close,  keep 
dark,  and  wait  events,  is,  perhaps,  the  best  policy,  always,  in 
any  such  contest,  where  we  do  not  see  clearly  the  prospect  or 
propriety  of  action.  He  did  not  adopt  this  policy  in  vain. 
Hardly  had  he  come  to  this  resolution,  when  the  scene  was 
changed  by  the  introduction  of  other  parties.  For  these,  how- 
e.ver,  we  must  open  another  chapter. 


THE   LAST    DROP   OF   JAMAICA.  101 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

l-HK    LAST    D  10P    OF    JAMAICA    IN    THE    VETERAN'S    BOTTLE. 

THE  reader  will,  perhaps,  find  it  advisable  to  go  back  with  us 
to  a  certain  small  group  of  Marion's  partisans,  whom  we  left,  >'n 
joittr,  from  the  camp  of  that  chieftain,  for  the  ancient  settlements 
upon  the  Ashepoo,  which  they  had  abandoned  at  the  opening  of 
the  Revolutionary  struggle,  to  undergo  the  capricious  events  of 
war.  Captain  Porgy,  and  his  little  suite  of  three  persons,  having 
been  making  easy  progress  since  we  left  them  —  have  advanced 
considerably  on  their  way  homeward,  and  are  now  almost  within 
striking  distance  of  the  Ashepoo.  A  few  miles  beyond  it,  and 
the  captain  will  once  more  be  able  to  contemplate  his  ancient 
homestead  —  the  paternal  house  and  hearth,  the  well-known  fields 
and  woods  —  a  once  valuable  property  which  had  been  transmit 
ted  to  him  through  three  or  more  careful  generations  —  he,  alas  ! 
being  the  only  careless  one  of  the  race — in  whose  hands  their 
continued  accumulations  had  constantly  undergone  diminution, 
until  now,  when,  what  with  his  own  profligacy  and  the  misfor 
tunes  naturally  following  the  sort  of  Avar  through  which  the  col 
ony  had  just  gone,  his  homestead  was  almost  wholly  desolate, 
stripped  of  negroes,  and  covered  with  debt  as  with  a  winter  gar 
ment. 

Porgy  had  been  a  fast  youth.  He  had  never  been  taught  the 
pains  of  acquisition.  Left  to  himself — his  own  dangerous  keep 
ing — when  a  mere  boy,  he  had  too  soon  and  fatally  learned  the 
pleasures  of  dissipation.  The  war  found  him  pursued  by  debt 
and  embarrassments,  as  unrelaxing  as  the  furies  that  hunted  the 
steps  of  Orestes. —  He  had  found  temporary  relief  from  the  hands 
of  usury,  and  may  thus  be  described  as  falling  from  the  grasp 
of  the  Furies,  into  the  worse  keeping  of  the  Fates.  He  held 
himself  very  nearly  a  ruined  man,  when  the  war  began  ;  and 
the  loss  of  numerous  negroes,  carried  off  by  the  enemy,  gave 
him  no  reason  to  doubt  upon  the  subject.  His  lands  were  mort- 


102  WOODCRAFT, 

gaged,  the  negroes  gone,  his  debts  cried  aloud  against  him  fot 
judgment,  and  lie  had  reason  to  know  that  his  chief  creditor  was 
on  the  watch  for  his  return.  The  cessation  of  war,  which  strip 
ped  him  of  his  occupation,  was  an  event  which  necessarily  re 
stored  the  common  law  to  its  fearful  activity.  The  camp  was 
now  doomed  to  pale  in  the  shadow  of  the  court ;  arms  must  give 
way  to  the  gown  ;  and  the  laurels  of  war  soon  wither,  in  si^ht 
and  from  remembrance,  when  the  tongue  only  is  allowed  to  carry 
on  the  contests  of  human  antagonism.  The  pillars  in  war,  are 
notoriously  the  caterpillars  in  peace,  and  there  was  no  blessed 
exemption,  in  the  lot  of  Captain  Porgy,  from  this  distressing 
prospect.  Of  that  he  was  well  assured.  He  did  not  once  de 
ceive  himself.  He  could,  with  sheer  force  of  will,  expel  from 
his  presence  the  gloomy  prospect,  but  he  had  no  imagination 
such  as  would  enable  him  to  look  on  it,  till  he  made  it  grateful 
and  encouraging. 

To  the  strongest  —  nay,  to  the  most  reckless  nature  —  there 
will  be  always  something  humbling  and  oppressive  in  the  sur 
vey  of  such  a  situation.  The  questions  "  what  is  to  be  done  ?" 
—  "whither  am  I  to  turn?" — "of  what  am  I  capable?" — 
"where  is  my  resource?" — to  be  asked  of  himself,  for  the  first 
time,  and  by  the  man  who  has  already  passed  middle  ago,  are 
well  calculated  to  fling  a  pall  over  the  prospect,  and  make  the 
heart  to  shrink  at  the  entrance  upon  the  unknown  void  of  life 
•vhich  yet,  spreads  before  it.  Porgy  was  the  man  to  feel,  thor 
oughly,  the  discouraging  and  sad,  in  this  survey ;  for  he  was  a 
man  really  of  good  sense  and  many  sensibilities;  —  but  he  had 
moral  resources  which  kept  him  from  basely  cowering  and  whi 
ning  beneath  the  cloud.  He  was  only  not  so  blind  as  not  to  see 
it  with  oppressive  distinctness  —  to  feel  its  pressure,  to  acknowl 
edge  the  doubts  and  embarrassments  which  crowd  upon  his 
patli ;  —  not  to  shudder  at  them  basely,  or  to  yield  to  any  weak 
nesses  of  mood,  in  consequence.  Besides,  he  had  a  taste  for 
pleasure,  was  not  a  little  of  an  epicure  —  there  may  have  been, 
indeed,  some  affectation  in  this  characteristic  —  and  he  prided 
himself  upon  the  fact  that  he  could  extract  his  morals  always 
from  his  appetites.  He  took  philosophy  with  him  to  his  table, 
and  grew  wise  over  his  wine.  So,  at  least,  he  claimed  to  do. 

We  have  seen  him,  in  a  previous  chapter,  resorting  to  this  sort 


THE  LAST  DROP  OF  JAMAICA.  108 

of  remedy  against  the  cares  which  he  was  yet  compelled  to  con 
template —  appealing  to  his  appetites  against  his  griefs,  and 
seeking  consolations  against  thought,  in  his  last  bottle  of  Jamaica. 
It  so  happens  that  in  resuming  our  acquaintance  with  his  party, 
we  find  him  again  similarly  engaged,  it  is  noonday  and  past. 
Our  partisans  feel  the  necessity  of  stopping  for  refreshment,  on 
the  route. 

They  have  reached  a  pleasant  spot  upon  the  roadside,  a 
rill  of  sweet  water  trickling  across  the  sandy  highway  from 
a  green  copse  that  shelters  it  —  and  there  are  still  a  few 
bright  drops  in  the  corpulent  bottle  of  Jamaica  —  one  of  a  shape 
and  size,  that  we  do  not  often  see  in  use  in  these  degenerate 
days.  It  was,  in  shape,  an  oblong  square,  with  portly  capacities, 
holding,  perhaps,  a  trifle  under  a  gallon.  A  netting  of  wire- 
grass  envelops  it,  affording  it  comparative  safety  against  the 
vicissitudes  of  travel.  —  The  party  have  tasted  of  the  beverage 
ere  we  come  upon  them.  The  bottle  leans  against  a  tree  just 
above  the  streamlet.  Tom,  the  cook,  has  been  again  made  to 
descend  to  unstrap  his-  wares,  and  prepare  his  hoe-cake  and 
bacon.  The  feast  has,  already,  in  a  great  measure,  been  en 
joyed.  The  only  persons  who  still  show  an  imrelaxing  appetite, 
are  the  sergeant,  Millhouse,  the  one-armed  veteran,  and  Tom, 
the  African.  You  may  see  that  each  of  these  carries  in  his  hand 
certain  fragments  of  bread,  and  broiled  ham  of  corresponding 
dimensions,  the  latter  done  to  a  turn.  The  sergeant  eats  as  if 
duly  conscious  of  Tom's  excellence  as  a  cook,  and  —  for  no  other 
reason.  He  is  not  silent  when  the  expression  of  his  gratitude 
is  becoming. 

"  Tom,"  says  he,  "  I  shall  never  be  able  to  eat  br'iled  ham  of 
an;y  other  cook  but  you !  You  knows  what  a  br'ile  ought  to  be, 
Torn,  and  what  hog-meat  naturally  desarves." 

"  I  ought  for  know,  Mass  Millhouse  !  Maussa  show  me  how 
for  cook  'em  hese'f.  Mass  Porgy  fus'-rate  cook !  He  'tany 
|  stand]  ober  me  when  I  fus'  begin  for  1'arn.  May-be  he  no  cuss 
when  I  sp'ile  'em  !  Sometime  I  do  'em  too  much,  sometime  I 
do  'em  too  little  ;  he  cuss  bote  times,  and  sway  [swear]  he'll 
make  me  see  h — 1  ef  I  do  'em  so  nex'  time.  Wha'  den  ?  I  no 
want  for  sec  h — 1,  and  I  min'  [mind].  I  1'arn  .  Once  I  1'arn, 
I  nebber  forgit.  Maussa  hole  me  to  'em.  He  quick  for  cuss — 


104  WOODCRAFT. 

like  the  dcbbil !  —  Sometimes  he  lick!  But,  wha'  den  1  I  al 
ways  hab  good  share  of  wha'  I  cook.  Ef  Maussa  only  hat 
skin  ob  dc  pig,  he  sure  for  gib  ma  de  yays  [ears]  and  tail." 

"  He's  a  d d  good  fellow,  Tom  —  Cappin  Porgy.  I'd  'a 

IHHMI  a  dead  dog  ef ' twa'n't  for  him.  But  he  seems  mighty  dull, 
these  times,  Tom;  —  droopy,  I  may  say ;  like  a  young  turkey 
in  wet  weather." 

Tom  looked  with  interest  toward  his  master,  who  was  sitting 
some  steps  off — reclining,  rather  than  sitting  —  beneath  a  tree, 
with  young  Lance  Frampton,  the  ensign,  in  attendance.  In  the 
low  tones  of  voice  employed  by  the  sergeant  and  the  negro,  in 
this  conference,  they  were  quite  unheard  by  the  subject  of  their 
dialogue. 

"  I  sh' um  [see 'em],"  responded  the  negro.  "  De  trute  is, 
Mass  Millh'us  —  de  bakin  is  most  gone;  de  bottle,  I  'spec' 
[expect]  hab  room  'nough  for  fill  agcn  ;  —  I  most 'fear'd  der's 
no  quite  'nough  lef  in  'em,  to  gib  you  and  me  anoder  dram  ; 
and  de  army's  broke  up,  de  British  and  torys,  day  say,  all  gone ; 
and  nobody  lef  for  we  ravage  'pon,  and  git  new  supplies.  Da's 
it  !  Wha'  we  for  do  now,  is  de  t'ing.  It's  dat  wha',  make  Mass 
Porgy  look  like  young  tukkey  in  rainy  wedder." 

"  Tom,  old  boy,  we'll  have  to  work  for  the  cappin." 

"  You  work,  Mass  Millh'us  1  —  wha'  you  kin  do  when  you  only 
got  one  han'  1" 

"  But  I'm  got  a  h — 1  of  a  big  heart  for  my  friend,  Tom,  by 
thunder;  and  when  there's  heart  enough  in  a  man's  buzzum, 
Tom,  he  kin  always  find  arms  enough  to  sarve  his  friend,  even 
if  so  be  both  hands  are  chopped  off." 

"  Der's  trute  in  dat,  Mass  Millh'us,"  answered  the  negro 
gravely  with  an  assured  shake  of  the  head. 

"  Truth  !  By  thunder,  Tom,  it's  all  truth  !  It's  the  body  and 
soul  of  truth,  and  I'm  the  man  to  prove  it !  I'll  work !  The 
cappin  shan't  want !  He  can't  do  much,  Tom,  for  himself,  see 
ing  that  there's  to  be  no  more  fighting,  which  is  the  only  work 
that  a  gentleman  kin  do,  without  s'iling  his  fingers." 

"  Mass  Porgy  is  gempleman  for  true." 

"  Let  anybody  stand  up  and  say  he  ain't,  and  I'll  gallop 
through  him,  by  thunder!" 

"  I  trot  t'rough  arter  }  on,  Mass  Millh'us  " 


THE    LAST    DROP    OF    JAMAICA.  105 

"  But  he  don't  need  that.  He's  the  man  to  do  all  his  own 
fighting,  and  mighty  glad  of  the  chance." 

"  Fight  like  de  debbil,  Mass  Millh'us  !  You  take  some  more 
of  dis  br'ile  ?'* 

".No,  Tome,  no  more;  —  and  yet,  you  do  br'ile  it  so  bloody 
fine  that  —  yes!  You  may  fork  over  that  bit.  The  small  bit, 
Tom,  keep  t'other  piece  for  yourself." 

"  I  done  !  Ef  der'  was  only  de  smalles'  drop  o'  dat  Jimaica 
in  de  bottle !" 

The  fellow  looked  wistfully  toward  his  master.  The  eye  of 
Sergeant  Millhouse  took  the  same  direction  ;  but  neither  of  them 
would  have  dreamed  of  doing,  or  saying,  anything,  which  might 
declare  their  wants  to  their  superior.  But  it  was  in  proof  of 
Captain  I 'orgy's  claim  to  the  character  they  had  both  been 
pleased  to  assign  him,  that  of  the  gentleman,  that  he  always 
duly  considered  the  claims  of  the  interior,  and  anticipated  their 
reasonable  desire.  As  if  divining  their  wishes,  he  seemed  to 
waken  up  at  this  moment,  and  cried  out  from  his  tree,  to  Mill- 
house  :  — 

"  Sergeant,  there's  still  a  drop  of  the  Jamaica  for  you  in  the 
bottle.  Give  what  you  leave  to  Tom.  There's,  perhaps,  a  toler 
able  sup  for  you  both ;  but  it's  the  last.  I  suppose,  whenever 
we  deserve  it,  the  good  Fortune  will  send  us  more." 

Millhouse  did  not  wait  for  a  second  invitation.  Tom  smacked 
his  lips  as  the  sergeant  approached  him  with  the  bottle. 

"  Wha'  I  bin  say,  Mass  Millh'us  1  Ef  Mass  Cappin  had  only 
de  skin  oh  de  pig,  he  will  gib  we  de  tail  and  yays." 

"  He's  a  born  gentleman,  by  thunder ;, and  we'll  work  for  him. 
Tom,  more  hard  than  any  nigger  he  ever  had.'* 

"  1  'tan  [stand]  up  wid  you  for  dat,  Mass  Millh'us.  I  cook 
myse'f  'fore  I  guine  le'  Maussa  want  for  dinner.  So  long  as 
<!ere's  'coon  and  'possum,  squerril  and  rabbit  in  de  wood,  pat- 
t  ridge  and  dub  [dove]  —  duck  in  de  libber,  and  fish  in  de  pond 
—  so  long,  I  tell  you,  Torn  will'  always  hab  'nough  somet'ing  to 
cook  !  As  for  de  corn,  we  kin  make  dat  too.  Ef  you  no  got 
two  han'  for  hoe,  Mass  Sergeant,  you  kin  drop  de  seed." 

"  But  I  kin  hoe  like  h — 1,  with  one  hand  jest  as  well  as  two  ! 
Why  not  ?  By  thunder,  Tom,  you  must  think  me  a  sort  of  child, 
old  fellow,  ef  you  think  1  kaain't!" 

5» 


106  WOODCRAFT. 

"  Well,  Mass  Sergeant,  I  know  you  hab  cle  strengt',  but  it 
don't  come  so  easy  to  cle  one-liancl  man.  You  liab  cle  strengt', 
You  will  help  me  pack  up  de  pots  and  kettles,  when  we  ready 
for  start,  Mass  Sergeant?" 

"  Why  not,  nigger  ?  To  be  sure  !  It's  for  your  maussa, 
Tom,  and  I  love  him,  boy,  and  I'll  be  his  nigger,  too,  when  it 
ain't  cwdecend  —  that's  to  say,  when  there's  no  company.  Ef  a 
great  colonel  or  ginneral  should  come  to  visit  the  cappin  — 
Colonel  Singleton,  maybe,  or  the  '  Old  Fox'  himself,  maybe,  or 
Ginneral  Greene,  or  any  other  big  person  —  why  then,  Tom, 
don't  say  work  to  me  them  times !  I  must  be  in  my  rigimentals 
when  they  comes,  and  stand  jist  behind  the  cappin." 

"Da's  right?  I  comperhend.  Mass  Millh'us  !  Every  nig 
ger  to  he  own  sawt  o'  bizzness.  But,  hello  !  Wha'  dis  I  see. 
Der's  strange  pusson,  Mass  Millh'us,  corning  out  do  bush  ! 
Wha'fordat?  Man  da  run  !  Nigger  da  run  !  He  holla  !  Ha! 
look  da'  Mass  Millh'us.  Two  nigger  da'  run.  Enty  T  know 
'em  1  Stop  !  Le'  me  see.  Sure  as  a  gun,  Mass  Millh'us,  one 
ob  dem  boys  is  our  Pomp.  I  lef '  'em  a  boy !  He's  grow  a 
man!  Wha'  Pomp!  Da'  you?  Ha!  ha!  ha! --ho!  ho! 
ho  !  Lord  ha'  inussy  [mercy]  'pon  my  eyes  !  Dey  blin'  wid 
water!" 

We  must  account  for  these  broken  apostrophes  hereafter.  Wfl 
owe  it  to  Captain  Porgy  and  his  companion,  to  bestow  our  atten 
tions  upon  them  also,  and  see  what  have  been  their  meditations 
while  at  dinner. 


PHILOSOPHY   IN   THK   BEGGAR'S    WALLET.  107 


CHAPTER   XIX 

PHILOSOPHY    IN    THE    BEGGAR'S    WALLET. 

THE  moment  we  choose  for  reintroducing  Captain  Porgy,  and 
his  late  lieutenant  to  our  readers,  is  one  which  is  usually  found 
to  fulfil  all  the  conditions  of  happiness  to  the  ordinary  mortal. 
They  have  dined.  Crouched  at  ease,  under  the  shadows  of  an 
enormous  oak,  they  have  feasted  upon  the  simple  fare  provided 
hy  the  hands  of  their  excellent  cook,  and  have  done  the  amplest 
justice  to  the  thin  slices  of  broiled  ham,  "done  to  a  turn,"  and 
the  brown  hoe-cake,  in  the  proper  composition  of  which,  Tom 
had  established  in  camp  the  most  enviable  reputation.  These 
constituted  the  sum  total  of  their  commissariat.  The  sufficient 
potations  of  oily  old  Jamaica  had  followed  ;  and  with  a  sense  of 
physical  satisfaction  which  greatly  brightened  the  prospect, 
Captain  Porgy  leaned  back  against  the  shaft  of  the  tree,  and 
closed  his  eyes  in  order  justly  to  enjoy  it. 

That  complacent  sort  of  revery  which  usually  occupies  every 
mind,  after  the  noon-day  appetite  has  been  subdued  and  satis 
fied,  had  already  seized  upon  our  corpulent  captain.  Under  its 
present  influences,  the  state  of  his  affairs  began  to  look  less 
gloomy.  The  circumstances  which  more  particularly  pressed 
upon  his  thoughts  at  this  juncture  —  the  loss  of  his  late  employ 
ment,  the  involvement  of  his  estates,  the  supposed  abduction  of 
all  his  negroes,  the  danger  which  threatened  at  the  hands  of 
certain  creditors  —  sharks,  in  shoals,  lying  in  wait,  like  tigers  of 
the  land,  seeking  what  they  may  devour  —  these  crowding  and 
dismal  figures  upon  his  landscape  which,  before  he  dined,  had 
rendered  his  thoughts  a  very  jungle,  worse  than  Indian,  of  lions, 
tigers,  and  snakes  of  mammoth  dimensions — with  the  consumma 
tion  of  the  noon-day  meal,  retreated  from  before  his  path,  dis 
armed  of  most  of  their  errors,  and,  though  still  lurking  and  still 
hostile,  looking  so  little  capable  of  doing  mischief,  that  our  cap 
tain  began  to  wonder  at  his  own  feebleness  of  soul  which  had, 
but  a  little  while  before,  so  greatly  alarmed  him  on  their  account. 


1U8  WOODCRAFT. 

A  mild  and  soothing  languor  of  mood,  as  if  by  magic,  changed 
and  modified  all  the  figures  in  his  landscape  :  and  Nature,  hav 
ing  gained  time  —  which  is  the  best  capital,  after  all,  as  well  in 
morals  as  in  war  —  it  was  surprising  how  grateful  and  agreeable 
became  the  philosophy  which  she  had  taught  our  captain.  lit; 
actually  —to  the  amusement  of  Lance  Frampton,  who  had  tried 
in  vain  to  soothe  his  melancholy  mood  as  they  rode  together 
before  dinner  —  began  to  chuckle  aloud,  yet  unconsciously,  du 
ring  his  revery,  and  finally  afforded  to  his  young  lieutenant  an 
opportunity  to  twit  him,  goo  1  humoredly,  upon  his  sudden  change 
of  humor,  by  snapping  his  fingers  in  the  air,  as  if  at  the  flight 
of  some  enemy,  whom  he  had  successfully  combated. 

"  Well,  I  say,  captain,  you  don't  seem  quite  so  sick  of  life  as 
you  said  you  were  before  dinner.  I  reckon  you  won't  be  shoot 
ing  yourself,  as  you  threatened,  only  a  little  while  ago." 

"  Well,  boy,  what  then  ?  Is  life  less  loathsome  because  one 
learns  to  laugh  at  it  as  well  as  hate  it?" 

"  But  you  don't  hate  it,  captain  —  not  now." 

"No,  and  for  a  good  reason  —  because  I  no  longer  fear  it.  1 
see  the  worst  of  it.  I  see  all  that  it  can  do,  and  all  that  it  can 
deny,  and  I  feel,  let  it  do  its  worst,  that  I'm  the  man  for  it." 

"  And  what's  made  you  so  much  stronger  now  to  bear,  cap 
tain,  than  you  were  only  an  hour  agone  ?"  asked  the  youth,  with 
an  insinuating  chuckle. 

"Dinner,  you  dog,  I  suppose  —  dinner  and  drink.  Is  that 
what  you  mean  ?  Well  —  I  grant  you.  We  are  creatures 
of  two  lives,  two  principles,  neither  of  which  have  perfect  play 
at  any  time  in  the  case  of  a  man  not  absolutely  a  fanatic  or  a 
brute.  The  animal  restrains  the  moral  rnan,  the  moral  man 
checks  the  animal.  There  are  moments  when  one  obtains  the 
ascendency  over  the  other,  and  our  moods  acknowledge  this 
ascendency.  Before  dinner,  my  animal  man  was  vexed  and 
wolfish.  It  rendered  me  savage  and  sour.  I  could  not  think 
justly.  I  could  not  properly  wreigh  and  determine  upon  the 
value  of  the  facts  in  my  own  condition.  I  exaggerated  all 
the  ills  of  fortune,  all  the  evils  before  me,  my  poverty,  my  inca 
pacity,  and  the  ferocious  greed  of  my  creditors.  My  soul  was 
at  the  mercy  of  ray  stomach.  But.  the  wolf  pacified,  my  mind 
acquired  freedom.  The  wild  beast  sank  back  into  his  jungle, 


PHILOSOPHY    IX   THE    BKGGAll'S   WALLET.  109 

and  the  man  once  more  walked  erect,  having  no  fear.  Philos 
ophy,  my  boy,  appears  once  more  to  comfort  me,  and  the  land 
scape  grows  bright  and  beautiful  before  my  evening  sun." 

"  Well,  all's  right  then,  captain,  until  you  get  hungry  again." 
"  Poll,  poh !  boy  —  sufficient  for  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof. 
God  will  provide.  Vex  me  not  with  what  to-morrow  may 
bring  forth,  or  refuse  to  bring  forth.  To-day  is  secure.  That 
is  enough  ;  and  the  philosophy  nch  to-day  has  brought,  will, 
no  doubt,  reconcile  me  to-morrow.  Hear  you,  Lance  ?  It  is  the 
first  policy  in  a  time  of  difficulty  or  danger,  always  to  know  the 
worst  —  never  to  hide  the  truth  from  yourself •—  never  to  per 
suade  yourself  that  the  evil  is  unreal,  and  that  things  are  better 
than  they  really  are.  When  you  know  the  worst,  you  know 
exactly  what  is  to  be  done,  and  what  is  to  be  endured.  In  time 
of  war,  with  the  enemy  before  you  and  around  you,  you  are 
required  to  see  his  whole  strength,  give  him  full  credit  for  what 
he  can  do,  and  ought  to  do,  and  determine,  accordingly,  whether 
it  be  your  policy  to  fight,  or  fly,  or  submit  —  whether  you  can 
fly  —  what  will  be  your  treatment  if  you  yield,  and  what  is  the 
reasonable  chance  of  safety  or  victory,  if  you  resolve  to  fight. 
In  time  of  peace  the  necessity  is  the  same.  Peace  is  only  a 
name  for  civil  war.  Life  itself  is  civil  war ;  and  our  enemies 
are  more  or  less  strong  and  numerous,  according  to  circumstances. 
One  of  the  greatest  misfortunes  of  men,  and  it  has  been  mine 
until  this  hour,  consists  in  the  great  reluctance  of  the  mind  to 
contemplate  and  review,  calmly,  the  difficulties  which  surround 
us — to  look  our  dangers  in  the  face,  see  how  they  lie,  where 
they  threaten,  and  how  we  may  contend  against  them.  We  are 
all  quite  too  apt  to  refuse  to  look  at  our  troubles,  and  prefer  that 
they  should  leap  on  us  at  a  bound,  rather  than  disquiet  our 
selves,  in  advance  of  the  conflict,  by  contemplating  the  dangers 
with  wliieli  we  think  it  impossible  to  contend.  I  have  just  suc 
ceeded  ri  overcoming  this  reluctance.  I  have  arrayed  before 
my  mir.  j?s  eys  all  my  annoyances,  and  the  consequence  is  that 
I  snap  my  lingers  at  them.  As  old  Jerry  Sanford  used  to  cry 
out  when  he  was  in  a  fight,  '  Hurra  for  nothing  !'  Jerry  was  a 
true  philosopher.  His  motto  shall  be  mine.  Hurra  for  nothing 
seems  to  me  to  embody  the  full  amount  of  most  men's  matter 
for  rejoicing." 


110  WOODCRAFT. 

"Well  now,  captain,  it's  a  fine  philosophy,  I  reckon,  that'll 
bring  a  man  to  such  a  sort  of  feeling.  But,  if  I  may  take  the 
liberty,  I'd  just  like  to  know,  how  such  a  philosophy  can  put  a 
stop  to  the  troublt.  make  the  enemy  quit  the  field,  drive  the 
creditors  off  the  plantation,  and  fill  the  corn-crib  when  it's 
empty  1  I  ask  these  questions  with  your  permission,  captain, 
seeing  as  how  you've  been  good  enough  to  talk  to  me  upon  your 
affairs,  and  your  debts,  and  t'i.  i  troubles  from  the  sheriff  that 
you're  so  much  afraid  of." 

"  Afraid  of  the  sheriff,  boy !  Who  dares  to  say  that  of  me  1 
Never  Avas  I  afraid  of  a  sheriff  in  my  life.  D — n  him  !  Let 
him  come.  I  have  the  heart,  or  I'm  no  white  man,  to  take  the 
whole  posse  comitatus  by  the  snout." 

"  Posse,  comitatus  !     01),  I  reckon  you  mean  the  deputies  ?" 

"Ay,  ay  —  the  host  of  deputies — a  legion  of  deputies  if  you 
will,  from  the  Pedee  to  the  Savannah.  But  you  haven't  caught 
my  ideas,  Lance.  I  must  try  and  be  more  intelligible." 

"  I  thank  you,  captain." 

"  You  know,  Lance,  as  well  as  anybody  else,  that  I've  been  a 
(1 (1  fool  in  my  time." 

"  Yes,  captain,  to  be  sure." 

Porgy's  self-esteem  was  not  pleased  with  so  ready  a  con- 
"cession. 

"Well,  boy,  I  don't  mean  exactly. that.  How  the  devil  do 
you  know  anything  of  my  folly?" 

"  Oh,  I  can  guess,  sir." 

"Can  you,  indeed?"  with  a  sardonic  grin.  "You  are  too 
knowing  by  half,  sir — presuming  to  know,  for  one  so  young  as 

yourself.  I  mean,  boy,  that  I've  done  a  d d  sight  too  many 

foolish  things.  This  don't  make  a  man  utterly  a  fool." 

"No,  captain." 

"  Unless  he  continues  to  do  foolish  things,  mark  you." 

"  Yes,  captain,  I  see." 

"  Most  men,  the  wisest,  do  foolish  things.  I  don't  Knovr,  in- 
deed,  but  that  wisdom  itself  requires  to  go  through  a  certain  proba 
tion  of  folly,  in  order  to  acquire  the  degree  of  knowledge,  which 
shall  teach  what  folly  is  —  what  shape  it  takes,  and  how  it  will 
affent  us.  I  suppose  that  it  was  in  obedience  to  this  law  cf 
nature,  that  my  follies  wore  performed.  But  my  error  was  tLut 


PHILOSOPHY  IN  Till-:   BEGGAR'S  WALLET.  Ill 

I  continued  my  probation  quite  too  long.  I  was  ambitious,  you 
see,  of  the  highest  sort  of  wisdom.  I  made  too  many  experi 
ments  in  folly,  and  found  them  too  pleasant  to  abandon  them  in 
season.  The  consequence  was,  that  I  began  to  grow  wise  only 
as  I  forfeited  the  means  for  further  experiment.  My  wisdom 
had  its  birth  in  my  poverty,  and  as  it  was  through  my  follies 
that  I  became  poor,  I  suppose,  logically,  I  am  bound  to  say 
that  I  was  wise  because  I  had  been  so  great  a  fool.  Do  you 
comprehend  me  ¥' 

"  A  little,  captain  ;   I  think  I  see." 

"You  will  understand  me  better  as  I  go  on.  I  wasted 
money  —  a  great  deal — ran  into  debt  —  sold  negroes  —  mort 
gaged  others  —  and  when  I  joined  the  brigade,  my  plantation 
was  mortgaged  also  —  I  can't  tell  you  for  how  much.  But, 
even  if  the  British  and  tories  had  not  stolen  all  the  rest  of  my 
negroes,  the  sale  of  the  whole  of  them  would  scarcely  have  paid 
the  debt  then,  and  there's  some  six  years'  interest  since.  A 
very  interesting  condition  of  affairs,  you  will  admit,  for  my  con 
templation  now." 

"  Very,  sir." 

"  Now,  to  look  fully  these  affairs  in  the  face  requires  no 
small  degree  of  courage.  I  confess,  until  I  had  finished  dinnei 
to-day,  I  was  scarcely  the  man  for  it.  But  that  last  draught  of 
that  blessed  and  blessing  old  Jamaica — did  Millhouse  and  Tom 
get  a  good  sup  of  it?" 

"  Pretty  good,  captain." 

"  They  require  good  measure,  both  !  Well  Lance,  boy,  tfcat 
last  sup  of  the  Jamaica  seemed  to  warm  up  my  courage,  and  I 
resolutely  called  up  the  whole  case,  didn't  suppress  any  of  the 
facts,  looked  at  all  the  debts,  difficulties,  duns,  and  dangers,  and 
said  to  myself,  '  A  fig  for  'em  all.'  Let  the  lands  go,  and  the 
negroes  go,  and  still  —  I'm  a  man  !  —  a  man  !" 

"  That's  the  way,  captain,"  responded  the  youth,  with  entliu- 
Biasm,  seizing  the  extended  hand  of  his  superior,  and  pressing  it 
with  a  real  affection. 

"  It  was  just  when  I  had  come  to  this  conclusion,  Lance,  that 
[  snapt  my  fingers.  I  couldn't  help  it.  It  was  the  spontaneous 
sign  of  my  exultation  ;  and  as  I  did  so,  I  thought  I  saw  the 
d c!  mealy  face,  blear  eyes,  hook  nose,  and  utterly  rascally 


112  WOODCRAFT. 

whole,  of  my  creditor  M'Kcwu,  back  out  from  before  me,  and 
take  to  the  woods  at  a  full  run.  Along  with  him  went  the 
sheriff  and  the  whole  swarm  of  deputies,  all  of  whom  have  been 

dodging  about  me  the  whole  morning,   shaking  their  d d 

writs,  ca.  sa's,  fi.  fa's,  and  a  thousand  other  offensive  sheets  of 
penal  parchment  in  my  face.  I  discomfited  the  wretches  by 
that  same  simp  of  the  fingers;  and  the  adoption  of  old  Jerry 
Sanford's  cry  of  battle  —  'Hurrah  for  nothing! 'has  made  me 
able  to  back  poverty  and  the  sheriff  into  the  woods!" 

"I'm  so  glad,  captain!" — after  a  pause,  was  the  response  of 
Lance  Frampton ;  but,  with  some  hesitation,  and  perhaps  not 
well  knowing  how  to  shape  the  question  which  he  only  desired 
to  intimate — "  but,  captain,  is  that  all  ?  Will  it  end  so  V 

"End  Low?" 

"Won't  the  sheriff  come  again?" 

"  What  then  !  Give  him  another  snap  of  the  fingers,  and  the 
war-cry." 

"  But  won't  he  take — " 

"  The  property  ?     Yes  !     I  suppose  after  a  while  I  shall  have 

to  surrender ;  but  we'll  make  a  d d  long  fight  of  it,  Lance  ; 

and  we'll  get  terms,  good  conditions,  when  we  give  in  —  go  off 
with  our  sidearms,  flag  flying,  and  music  playing  the  grand 
march  '  Hurrah  for  nothing  !' " 

"  But,  captain,"  continued  the  youth,  "  I  don't  altogether  know. 
You're  a  man  of  learning,  and  can  tell  much  better  than  me ; 
but  I'm  rather  dubious.  When  I  was  a  boy,  old  Humphries  of 
Dorchester,  father  of  our  Bill,  you  know,  he  sent  the  sheriff 
after  my  father,  and  took  him,  and  took  all  the  property  besides, 
even  to  the  very  beds  and  bedding.  Now,  won't  they  take  you, 
captain,  if  you  can't  pay  ?" 

"  Take  me,  boy  !  Do  I  look  like  a  man  in  danger  from  the 
claws  of  a  sheriff?  No,  no  !  There  will  be  blows  in  that  busi 
ness.  They  know  better,  Lance.  In  fact  they  are  content> 
dealing  with  a  gentleman  and  a  soldier,  to  take  his '  baggage- 
wagons,  his  impedimenta,  and  that  purely  out  of  kindness,  as 
they  desire  to  free  him  from  all  incumbrances.  They  will  hardly 

attempt  more.     That  d d  harpy,  M'Kewn,  will-be  quite  con- 

tent,  I  suspect,  to  take  the  plantation.  There  are  no  negroes 
left,  I  fe,ar." 


PHILOSOPHY    IN   THE    BEGGAR'S    WAL^eTi.  113 

"  But  Tom  ?" 

"  Tom  !  oh,  ay  !     And  yon  think  Tom  liable  I" 

"  Ain't  he,  then  ?" 

"  Well,  I  suppose  so.  Tom  is  certainly  a  negro.  Tom  is 
certainly  mine.  As  mine,  Tom  is  liable  for  my  debts,  and  it 

may  be  that  some  d d  fool  of  a  creditor  or  sheriff  may  fancy 

(hat  he  can  take  Tom.  But  he  shall  have  a  hint  in  season  of 
the  danger  of  any  such  experiments  upon  my  philosophy.  1 
love  Tom.  Tom  is  virtually  a  free  man.  It's  true,  being  n 
debtor,  I  can  not  confer  freedom  upon  him.  But  let  a  sheriff 
touch  him,  and  I'll  put  a  bullet  through  his  diaphragm.  I  will, 
by  Jupiter  !  If  I  don't  do  that,  Lance  —  if  there's  no  escape 
for  Tom — for  they  may  seize  him  when  I'm  napping — after 
dinner,  perhaps  —  then,  I  shall  kill  Tom,  Lance;  I'll  shoot  linn. 
—  him,  Tom  —  in  order  to  save  him.  The  poor  fellow  lias 
faithfully  served  a  gentleman.  He  shall  never  fall  into  the 
hands  of  a  scamp.  I'll  sacrifice  him  as  a  burnt-offering  for  my 
sins  and  his  own.  Tom,  I'm  thinking,  would  rather  die  my 
slave,  than  live  a  thousand  years  under  another  owner." 

"  He  does  love  you,  captain. 

"  And  I  love  him.  The  old  rasc.il,  I  do  love  him.  He  makes 
the  finest  stew  of  any  cook  in  Carolina.  He  shall  cook  for  me 
as  long  as  I'm  able  to  eat ;  and  when  I'm  not,  we  shall  both  be 
willing  to  die  together." 

"  Well,  but  captain,  you  was  saying — " 

"Ah!  yes.  We  are  supposing  that,  all's  gone,  lands,  ne 
groes,  baggage  —  all  the  impedimenta.  Everything  but  Tom  — 
and  what  then  ?  That  is  the  point  which  I  have  reached,  and 
to  which  my  philosophy  reconciles  me.  It  is  still  possible  for 
me  to  live." 

•'  Oh,  yes,  sir!" 

"  H^w  the  devil  should  you  know  ?  To  be  sure,  I  could  live 
precisely  \s  you  and  a  thousand  others  would  live ;  but  you  see. 
L  nice,  life  "s  a  very  different  thing  to  different  persons.  One 
man  lives  like  i  dog,  a  hog,  a  skunk,  a  'coon,  or  even  a  cabbage. 
With  such  a  person,  you  can  despoil  him  of  nothing  by  any  pro 
cess.  You  can  not  rojb  him.  Thieves  can  not  break  into  his 
premises  and  steal.  Take  all  he  has,  and  he  loses  nothing.  He 
o.'.i  still  find  grabbage  —  water  lies  conveniently  before  him  in 


114  WOODCRAFT. 

every  puddle  —  and  he  may  swallow  air  without  even  vexing 
the  fears  of  a  chameleon.  He  acknowledges  only  the  principle 
of  distension,  not  of  taste  or  even  appetite,  and  there  is  no  stint 
of  grasp  and  weeds  for  a  starving  heifer.  '  Root  pig  or  die,'  is 
\vii.h  him  the  whole  body  of  law;  and  his  snout  has  long  since 
been  practised  in  finding  its  way  into  the  potato-hills  after  the 
crop  has  been  withdrawn.  But  to  reconcile  a  man,  with  my 
training,  to  such  a  life,  requires  a  rare  philosophy  indeed.  How, 
with  such  tasfes  as  mine,  am  I  to  live? — how  dig?  —  where  find 
potatoes,  and  with  what  substitutes  for  tea,  and  coffee,  and  Ja 
maica,  refresh  the  inner  man  ?  That  I  should  be  able  to  cry 
•Hurrah  for  nothing!'  with  perfect  good-humor,  after  such  a 
survey  of  my  case,  is  the  glorious  triumph  that  I  have  this  day 
achieved.  Would  you  believe  it,  Lance,  that  I  go  out  of  the 
war  with  a  paltry  eleven  guineas  in  my  pocket  ?  And  this  is 
all  I  really  own  in  the  world ;  but — 

"Captain!" 

"Well!" 

"  I've  got  a  let  tic  more  than  that.  Here's  twenty  guineas 
that  Colonel  Singleton  gave  me  more  than  a  month  ago.  If 
you're  willing,  we'll  put  yours  and  mine  in  the  same  bag,  and 
you  shall  have  the  keeping  of  it." 

"  You're  a  good  boy,  Lance,  and  I  love  you ;  but  d n  your 

guineas.  What  should  make  you  think  that  I  want  'em  ? 
What  should  make  you  think  so  meanly  of  me  as  to  suppose 
that  I  would  rob  you  of  your  little  stock  in  trade  ?" 

"  But  it's  no  robbery,  captain  —  I'm  glad  to — " 

"  Pooh,  pooh  !  Put  up  your  guineas,  Lance.  You'll  want 
'ern  all.  Don't  I  know  you.?  Are  you  not  going  to  marry  that 
pretty  little  witch,  Ellen  Griffin?" 

"Well,  sir — I  reckon.     Yes,  sir,  Ellen  and  me — " 

"  Give  her  the  bag  to  keep  !  Don't  trust  yourself  wit%  it,  o:;, 
in  some  fit  of  folly,  you'll  be  for  giving  it  to  some  other  person, 
who  will  take  you  at  your  Avord.  You  will  want  all  tnat,  and 
even  more,  to  begin  your  career  in  this  world.  As  for  me,  I  st?- 
exactly  what  I  am  to  do,  and  will  tell  you." 

"  I'll  thank  you,  sir."  . 

"  There  was,  many  years  ago,  an  old  Frenchman,  tha : 
name  into  our  neighborhood.  He  was  the  most  dwarfish  au.^ 


115 

ilried-up  little  fellow  in  the  we  rid.  He  was  as  poor  as  Job's 
turkey — " 

"  Why  was  Job's  turkey  so  poor,  captain  ?" 

"  I  suppose  that,  being  a  favorite  with  Job  himself,  his  wife 

never  fed  it,     But  don't  interrupt  me  by  asking  such  a  d d 

unnecessary  question,  Lance  !  As  I  was  saying  of  this  French 
man,  he  was  wretchedly  poor,  in  purse  as  in  body,  owned  no 
goods  that  I  could  see  except  the  clothes  on  his  back,  and  a 
miserable  little  single-barrel  bird-gun,  small  in  bore,  but  some.' 
thing  taller  than  its  owner.  The  only  luxury  that  the  old  fel 
low  indulged  in  was  snuff;  and  with  this,  his  upper  lip,  his  shirt- 
bosom,  coat-sleeve,  and  vest  pocket,  were  all  dyed  deeply  with 
a  never-fading  saffron  brown.  His  snuff,  gun,  a  supply  of  pow 
der  and  shot,  and  an  old  box  with  some  mean  cooking  apparatus, 
were  his  only  possessions.  I  doubt  if  he  had  an  extra  pair  of 
breeches.  He  alighted  suddenly  in  the  neighborhood,  and  pre 
sented  himself  before  me,  with  a  polite  bow,  and  a  most  per 
suasive,  grin. 

"'Monsieur  Porgy,  I  yer  of  you!  You  s'all  let  me  live  on 
your  plantation  !  Dere  is  one  house  ob  log  by  de  leetle  swamp  ! 
Dere  s'all  be  nobody  live  in  him  i  'Spose  you  s'all  soffre  me,  1 
s'all  live  in  him  !  I  have  no  money  to  pay !  I  live  by  my 
leetle  gon  !  I  s'all  shoot  your  little  —  de  dove,  de  —  what  you 
call  him,  patridge,  de  squirrel,  de  rabit,  all  de  leetle  beast.  I 
no  trobblc  de  deer,  and  de  big  bird  —  de  torkey  !  You  s'all 
soffre  me  dat  leetle  house,  and  to  hill,  for  my  leetle  dener,  dese 
leetle  bird,  and  de  leetle  beasts,  I  s'all  be  votre  tres  homble  sar 
vant  two  t'ousand  times,  and  s'all  t'ank,  free,  seven,  eight,  fiv 
limes  ovair !' 

"  I  consented  to  the  very  moderate  entreaty ;  but  offered  that 
iic  should  live  with  me  —  offered  him  money  —  but  he  refused 
everything  but  the  simple  privileges  which  he  applied  for,  'to  liv' 
in  de  leetle  pole  house,  by  de  leetle  swamp,  and  kill  de  leetle 
birds  and  beasts.'  '.'here,  accordingly,  this  poor  fellow  lived,  for 
seven  years,  literally  on  nothing.  He  would  accept  no  gifts, 
and  even  strove  to  put  me  under  obligations.  If,  for  example, 
he  shot  a  pair  of  fine  English  ducks,  which  was  sometimes  the 
case,  he  would  bring  them  to  ine  with  a  grateful  grin  — 

"'Monsieur  Porgy,  you  s'll  do  me  de  ver'  great  honneur.' 


116 

•'At  first  I  accepted,  but  when  lie  steadily  refused  my  help,  J 
refused  his  game,  except  as  «i  purdi.iso.  His  wants  were  few 
and  easily  provided.  His  powder  and  shot,  his  snuff  and  coffee, 
salt  and  sugar,  oil  and  vinegar,  —  these  he  procured  from  a  ped 
lar  who  went  the  rounds  of  the  parish  at  stated  periods.  To 
procure  these  articles,  he  sold  at  the  cross-roads,  or  to  neighbor 
ing  families,  his  surplus  game.  He  planted  a  couple  of  acres  of 
corn  and  peas,  just  about  his  habitation,  which,  under  his  culti 
vation,  yielded  twice  or  thrice  as  much  as  any  two  of  my  best 
acres.  His  food,  besides,  was  wholly  procured  by  his  gun,  yet 
he  was  not  a  surprising  shot.  But  he  was  indiscriminate  inbis 
slaughter  of '  de  lecth  birds.'  Pie  showed  few  preferences.  If 
the  dove  and  partridge  did  not  come  immediately  in  his  way,  he 
shot  down  woodpecker  and  blue-jay.  The  hawk  was  not  re 
jected  from  his  cook-pot.  He  luxuriated  in  'coon  and  'possum 
when  he  could  get  them,  and  with  this  object,  he  frequently 
went  on  the  night-hunts  with  the  negroes.  His  taste  required 
that  his  birds  and  beasts  should  be  utterly  stale  before  Jie  ate 
them.  His  larder  was  hung  with  birds,  of  all  sorts,  almost  drop 
ping  to  pieces,  before  lie  thought  them  well  flavored  enough  for 
his  palate.  Then,  with  a  little  salt,  oil,  and  red  pepper,  he  made 
his  meal  with  the  relish  of  one  who  has  eaten  of  a  princely  feast. 
He  was  always  cheerful  as  a  lark.  He  sang  and  even  danced 
alone  beneath  his  trees.  He  had  been  on  the  place  for  about  a 
year,  when  he  went  off  suddenly,  on  foot,  to  Charleston.  When 
he  returned,  he  brought  back  with  him  an  old  violin,  the  vilest 
looking  thing  in  the  world,  but  stuffed  to  the  core  with  the 
sweetest  music,  which  the  old  fellow  brought  out  with  singular 
skill.  The  instrument  was  a  genuine  Cremona — a  famous  fine 
one  —  which,  as  I  found  out  afterward,  he  had  left  in  pawn  in 
the  city.  His  happiness  was  quite  complete  when  he  had  re 
deemed  it.  I  often  strolled  out  to  hear  him  play.  He  had  no 
apparent  griefs.  He  never  complained — never  even  fretted  — 
was  always  ready  with  a  grin  of  good  h.jnor — smile  he  could 
not,  on  account  of  the  peculiarly  ill-formed  mouth  which  he 
owned;  —  and  so,  for  seven  years,  he  lived,  entirely  companion- 
less.  Yet  he  had  visitors,  and  of  his  own  countrymen.  At 
Christmas,  he  sometimes  had  no  less  than  three  or  four  guests, 
who  came  again  at  the  close  of  spring.  Without  bedding  o/ 


PHILOSOPHY    IN   THE   BEGGAR'S   WALLET.  117 

covering,  except  the  scantiest  for  himself,  they  remained  with 
him  more  than  a  week  on  each  occasion.  I  was  curious  to  see 
how  he  would  entertain  them,  and  always  paid  him  a  visit  when 
I  heard  of  their  arrival.  He  received  them  with  open  arms. 
They  were  welcome  to  all  he  had.  True,  he  had  nothing ;  but 
what  then?  He  made  room  for  them,  gave  place  by  the  fire 
side,  spread  a  third  of  his  room  with  pine  straw,  ground  an  extra 
quantity  of  corn  and  coffee ;  then,  as  they  had  finished  their 
morning  meal,  he  would  say  —  'Allans!  my  friends  —  we  s'all  go 
shoot  de  leetle  birds !'  Each  had  brought  his  gun,  and  they 
knew  that  each  was  expected  to  find  his  own  dinner ;  and  he 
did  so  I  have  encountered  them  on  their  return  from  a  morn 
ing's  excursion,  and  their  bags  were  full — and  such  an  assort 
ment  !  They  killed  everything  that  crossed  their  paths,  taking 
care,  however,  to  spare  the  '  big  birds  and  beasts.'  My  French 
man,  Louis  Du  Bourg,  scrupulously  respected  his  pledges.  But, 
in  fact,  they  all  lacked  the  enterprise  which  required  long  and 
remote  wanderings.  Their  largest  visitors,  of  the  bird  kind, 
were  the  duck  ;  the  squirrel  and  the  rabbit  were  the  '  small  deer' 
which  satisfied  their  ambition  in  respect  to  large  four-footed 
game. 

"  Now,  Lance,  what  I  have  told  you  is  a  history.  Poor  old 
Louis  Du  Bourg  is  dead  :  but  he  has  left  me  his  example  !  I  see 
exactly  how  I  may  live,  as  happily  and  as  independently  as  he 
—  that  is,  when  all's  over,  and  I  have  seen  the  worst.  I  shall 
then  turn  to  killing  'de  leetle  bird  and  de  leetle  beast,'  squatting 
on  some  great  man's  property.  I  can  surely  get  this  privilege 
from  some  of  my  old  associates  ;  and,  with  two  acres  of  tolerable 
land,  I  shall  hoe  and  hill  my  own  corn;  sow  and  dig  my  own 
potatoes  ;  cook  my  own  hominy  ;  sell  my  ducks  and  birds  when 
1  want  powder  and  shot,  and  be  able,  possibly,  as  I  was  once 
something  of  a  hunter,  to  carry  enough  venison  to  market  to 
procure  me  an  occasional  demijohn  of  good  Jamaica.  Perhaps, 
in  process  of  time — but  I  need  look  no  farther.  Enough,  Lance, 
my  boy,  that,  like  my  old  Frenchman,  I  shall  be  able,  once  or 
twice  a  year,  to  entertain  my  old  friends.  You  shall  come  and 
see  me,  Lance,  you  and  our  friend  here,  Sargeant  Millhouse ;  he 
shall  help  me  set  my  snares,  and  you  will  help  me  kill  my 
*  leetle  birds  and  beasts,'  and  with  a  'coon  and  'possum  hunt,  b} 


118  WOODCRAFT. 

night,  we  shall  lay  in  sufficient  store  of  venison  for  a  week'a  en- 
iertainment.  of  any  fiienrls.  There,  hoy,  is  a  prospect  for  yon  ; 
and,  after  surveying  it,  I  can  sing  out  heartily,  and  with  a  phi 
losophy  that  is  quite  consoling —  Hurrah  for  nothing!  Let  the 
world  slide!  — Sessa.'" 

"  Oh  !  captain,"  cried  the  youth,  seizing  affectionately  the 
!;;md  of  his  superior,  "you  sha'n't  work  —  you  sha'n't  hill  and 
hoe  corn  and  potatoes,  wiiile  I've  the  hands  to  do  it  for  you  t 
I'll  come  and  live  with  you,  and  work  for  you — " 

"  You  forget,  Lance,  you  are  soon  to  have  a  wife." 

"  True  —  to  he  sure,"  answered  the  other,  staggered  for  a  mo 
ment ;  hut  quickly  recovering,  he  cried  — "  Then,  captain,  you 
must  come  and  live  with  me.  Ellen  will  he  glad,  and — " 

"  You're  a  good  fellow,  Lance,  my  lad,  and  1  love  you,  though 
I  don't  think  that  I  shall  ever  he  able  to  become  your  guest. 
'Twouldn't  suit,  Lance.  It  would  be  all  right  that  you  should 
live  with  me,  and  I  must  insist  upon  that,  boy,  until  you  are 
fairly  married.  For  me,  at.  the  worst,  old  Louis  Du  Bourg's 
plan  is  the  only  one.  It  will  have  a  look  of  independence,  at 
least,  and  that  is  always  a  matter  of  great  value  to  a  person  of 
my  temper.  But,  hey  !  what's  the  outcry  from  Tom,  and  who 
are  these  ?  Help  heave  me  up,  Lance,  and  see  to  your  weapons. 
It  looks  like  a  surprise  !" 

By  dint  of  great  exertions  on  his  own  part,  and  with  the 
strenuous  help  of  his  lieutenant,  the  huge  bulk  of  Captain  Porgy 
was  lifted  into  the  perpendicular,  and,  in  a  moment,  Lance  and 
himself  were  prepared  to  make  battle  as  if  an  enemy  were  upon 
them.  The  cause  of  the  alarm  was  soon  explained;  and  Tom. 
the  cook,  accompanied  by  Sergeant  Millhouse,  rapidly  ap 
proached  at  the  command  of  Porgy,  bringing  with  them  two  of 
the  escaping  fugitives  from  the  wagon  of  Mrs.  Eveleigh  ;  namely, 
John,  otherwise  Sylvester,  the  slave  of  the  widow  and  Pompey, 
junior,  belonging  to  Captain  Porgy  himself. 


TO    HORSE!    THE   CAMP   IN   MOTION.  119 


UNIVERSITY 


CHAPTER   XX. 

TO    HORSE  !    THE   CAMP   IN    MOTION. 

"HERE'S  a  smash-and-tear-it  sarcumstance,  Captain  Porgy. 
as  ever  you  did  see,"  quoth  Sergeant  Millliouse,  advancing  be 
fore  tlie  fugitives. 

"  Der's  John  Sylvester,  Mass  Porgy,  b'long  to  widow  Ebleigh, 
and  dis"  —  thrusting  his  hand  familiarly  into  the  wool  of  Pompey, 
and  pulling  him  forward  —  "dis  da'  our  own  little  Pomp,  you 
know." 

"  Little  !  The  fellow's  as  tall  as  you  are.  Why,  Pomp  !  is 
that  you,  boy  1  Where  have  you  been  ?  What  are  you  doing 
here  1  They  told  me  you  were  carried  off  by  the  British." 

"  I  git  'way,  maussa  !  Dey  tief  me,  but  I  git  'way  !  How 
you  bin,  Mass  Cappin  ]  God  A'mighty  !  I  so  glad  for  see 
you;"  and  the  fellow  ran  forward  and  shook  his  master's  Land 
with  the  eagerness  with  which  one  welcomes  the  best  friend  in 
the  world.  —  "Oh!  maussa,  it's  de  blessed  t'ing  you  is  come. 
You  hab  sword  and  gun.  You  mus'  mek'  haste  no\v.  De  tory 
got  we  —  got  Ben  and  Bill  and  Josey,  Little  Peter,  and  all  of 
we,  and  Toby,  and  Jupe,  and  Sam,  an'  all  of  dem  b'long  to 
Miss  Ebleigh  :  and  he  hab  catch  Miss  Ebleigh,  shese'f,  and  bis 
son,  Mass  Art'ur,  and  de  obe'shar,  Mr.  Fordham,  and  de  wagon, 
and  little  Peter,  and  all  —  only  Mr.  John  Sylbester,  yer,  and 
me,  Pomp,  show  'em  legs,  and  git  'way." 

"  What  the  d  -  1  does  the  fellow  jabber  about  ?  What's  the 
rigmarole  ]" 

"  It's  a  surprise,  cappin,  and  no  mistake,"  put  in  Sergeant 
Millhouse,  "  a  smash-and-tear-it  business  !  as  I  said  before.  You 
see,  the  tones,  so  they  call  'crr^  half  a  dozen  or  more,  in  mighty 
strange  clothes  and  looks  —  " 

"  He  face  and  head  all  bury  in  hair  and  whisper,  maussa,  da'a 
true,"  interposed  John  Sylvester. 

"  Yes  —  you  see?" 


120  WOODCRAFT. 

"Well!" 

"  Have  laid  an  ambuscade  for  this  lady,  her  son,  oversew 
wagoi,  and  negroes,  and  these  two  chaps  have  slipped  out  of 
the  scrape." 

"  Eh !  What's  this  I"  demanded  Porgy,  at  once  beginning  to 
perceive  that  the  affair  possessed  some  essentials  of  importance 
"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  this  ambush  has  been  set  to-day — 
that  these  things  have  only  now  taken  place  *  How  long — fel 
low —  you  —  what's  your  name  ?" 

This  was  said  to  John  Sylvester 

"  What !  Mass  Porgy,  you  no  'member  me,  John  Sylbester, 
wha'  b'lcng  to  widow  Ebleigh  1  1  sure  I  'member  you  fas' 
'nough." 

"  No  matter !  To  be  sure  I  remember  you,  John,  and  your 
great  grandmother,  too,  if  you  desire  it,  but  AVC  need  say  nothing 
of  either  now.  Where  is  your  mistress,  John  ?" 

"In  de  wood,  Mass  Cappin  —  on  the  road  guine  home  to  de 
plantation,  jes'  down  by  de  leetle  creek  wha'  run  out  of  Turkey 
swamp.  Dere  we  meet  dem  man  in  de  hair  and  whisker.  He 
shoot  —  I  fear'd  he  kill  Mass  Art'ur  and  de  obe'shar  [overseer] 
— he  catch  misses  —  den  he  jump  out  'pon  we  people  wid  de 
wagon,  and  I  reckon  he  catch  we  all,  only  we  two,  me  and 
Pomp,  get  off  in  de  woods.  Dey  push  arter  us,  but  we  lef '  'em 
in  little  green  bay,  and  run,  I  'spose  must  be  most  four  miles, 
'fore  we  see  smoke.  We  creep  up,  #nd  Pomp  say — *Da's 
maussa  Tom,  me  fellow  sarbant !  I .  know  'em,  like  me  own 
fadder!'" 

"  Yes :  da  me !"  quoth  Tom,  interposing  to  confirm  the  re 
port. 

"  And  this  but  now,  and  only  four  miles  off!    and  here,  you 

(1 d  pair  of  long  collards,  you've  taken  a  good  hour  to  tell  it. 

Boot  and  saddle,  Lance  !  Millhouse,  to  horse !  Tom,  gather 
up  and  follow  as  fast  as  you  can.  John  Sylvester — up  behind 
Lieutenant  Frampton.  Yon,  Pomp,  jump  up  behind  Sergeant 
Millhouse,  and  show  the  way  between  you.  Ride  apart,  Lance, 
yon  and  Millhouse,  and  see  to  your  priming.  Let  these  fellows 
tell  when  we  are  within  three  hundred  yards  from  the  spot  where 
the  affair  took  place.  Give  the  whistle  then,  and  haul  up  and 
move  with  caution.  Don't  dismount  —  we  may  have  to  dash  ic 


SCAMPER   AND    SCUL'YLK  ;    KLHJI1T   AND    FIGHT.  121 

upon  the  rascals  headlong.  I'll  take  the  woods  between  you — 
let  there  be  some  twenty  yards  between  us  each.  And  now,  at 
a  smart  gallop,  as  soon  as  you  can  !" 

It  required  but  a  few  minutes  to  prepare  the  party  in  order 
for  the  march,  as  required.  John  jumped  up  behind  Frampton, 
Pomp  look  his  place  in  the  rear  of  Millhouse,  and  Captain  Por- 
gy,  sett  Lap-  these  two  horsemen  in  the  proper  direction,  dashed 
torwar^  through  the  pincy  woods  with  a  spirit  and  celerity  that 
seemed  scarcely  consistent  with  his  great  bulk,  and  the  languor 
wnich  h  3  had  exhibited  but  a  little  while  before. 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

BCAMPKR    AM)    SCUFFLE;    FLIGHT    AND    FIGHT 

Tut  negro  guides  did  their  duty  with  the  exactness  and 
promptitude  of  persons  who  knew  exactly  what  was  required  of 
them,  and  what  was  the  object  of  the  arrangement.  They  stopped 
the  rapid  motion  of  the  horsemen  when  within  three  or  four  hun 
dred  yards  of  the  spot  where  they  conjectured  the  wagon  had 
been  left,  and  with  that  happy  instinct  which  marks  the  faculty 
of  the  southern  woodsman,  they  uttered  their  several  warnings 
nearly  at  the  same  moment.  The  horsemen  drew  up  carefully, 
the  negroes,  John  and  Pomp,  leaped  down,  and  kept  along  on  foot 
with  the  horses,  which  were  now  held  at  a  walk ;  and,  in  this 
way,  they  approached  the  opening  of  the  road,  within  eighty 
yards  of  the  place  where  the  wagon  stood. 

Here,  Porgy  was  enabled  to  get  a  practical  glance  of  the  state 
of  affairs.  They  arrived  at  a  fortunate  moment.  The  negroes, 
who  had  been  captured,  roped  together  in  pairs,  were  marching 
cff  under  the  charge  of  two  of  the  ruffians,  who  were  both  mount 
ed,  and  were  still  to  be  seen  moving  slowly  away  into  the  pine 
forests  in  the  distance.  Four  other  horses  were  discovered  fas 
tened  to  the  swinging  branches  of  a  tree  some  ten  or  fifteen  steps 
from  the  Avagon.  The  wagon-horses  were  hidden  in  the  woods. 
The  vehicle,  itself,  however,  presented  a  singular  appearance  of 

G 


WOODCRAFT. 

vitality.  The  cover  had  been  thrown  off,  and  lay  upon  the 
ground  on  one  side  of  it.  On  the  other  were  to  be  seen  bales, 
bags,  boxes,  arid  barrels ;  and,  every  now  and  then,  something 
was  seen  to  upheave  itself  within  the  wagon,  to  revolve  slowly 
over  the  sides,  and  come  down  upon  the  ground  with  a  heavy 
squelch. 

Were  the  robbers  all  in  the  wagon,  the  two  except ed  '\lu 
were  to  be  seen  going  off  with  the  negroes  ?  That  was  Fcigy  >. 
rirst  question,  which  he  soon  answered,  as  he  saw  that  the  con 
tents  of  the  wagon  were  thrown  out  slowly,  and  separately,  giv 
ing  evidence  of  the  presence  of  a  single  worker  only.  Where 
were  the  other  three?  In  ambush  somewhere  —  but  whore! 
A  moment's  reflection  led  our  troopers,  in  a  brief  conference,  tc 
the  conclusion  that  they  were  somewhere  in  front,  between  the 
wagon  and  carriage ;  and  not  in  the  rear,  or  on  the  route  which 
they  were  pursuing. — The  carriage  was  to  be  seen,  and  Lance 
Frampton  fancied  that  he  could  distinguish  the  garments  of  a 
woman  in  it.  Porgy  surveyed  the  field  with  a  military  eye.  A 
dead  silence  prevailed,  broken  only  by  the  dull,  heavy  sound  of 
the  falling  packages  from  the  wagon. 

"  There  is  some  bush-whacking  going  on  still,"  said  he  — 
<s  some  hiding  and  seeking,  but  it's  not  hereabouts.  The  fellow 
in  the  wagon  works  coolly  and  composedly,  as  if  he  had  no  ap 
prehensions.  If  there  had  been  any  suspicion  of  danger  from 
our  side  of  the  woods,  the  ambush  would  have  been  so  placed 
as  to  have  kept  us  from  working  so  far  forward.  Our  first  duty 
is  clear :  we  must  pursue  these  fellows  who  are  marching  away, 
cut  them  off,  and  rescue  the  negroes.  This  will  compel  the 
ambush  to  show  itself.  We  may  draw  their  bullets,  as  we  ap 
pear  ;  but  if  we  are  sudden,  with  a  shout,  and  go  forward  at 
full  speed,  we  are  very  apt  to  escape  the  taste  of  lead.  Wo 
can  ride  those  rascals  down  !  They  are  but  two.  Lance,  you 
will  keep  back,  and,  with  John  and  Pomp,  contrive  to  capture 
the  fellow  in  the  wagon.  Don't  kill  him  if  you  can  help  it. 
We  must  get  his  despatches,  and  cut  the  secret  of  this  expedi 
tion  from  under  his  tongue.  Do  you  hear  ?" 

"  Every  word,  captain." 

"Very  good;  now,  if  you  will  dismount,  fasten  your  nag  h? 
the  bushes,  and  creep  forward  with  John  and  Pomp  toward  the 


SCAMPER   AND   SCUFFLE  ;     FLIGHT    AND    FIGHT.          123 

wagon,  you  will  probably  have  a  good  chance,  the  moment  after 
we  make  our  rush.  The  rascal  will  then  jump  and  make  for 
the  bushes,  or  for  the  horses.  In  either  case,  you  ought  to  be 
able  to  grapple  him.  See  tx  it,  and  let  the  boys  understand 
you." 

The  negroes  were  soon  instructed,  and  betrayed  a  patriotic 
eagerness  to  be  up  and  doing.  Seeing  that  Frampton  had 
fastened  his  horse,  and  was  already  advanced  upon  his  way, 
with  his  sable  allies,  in  the  direction  of  the  wagon,  Porgy  gave 
the  signal,  and,  Avith  a  terrible  shout  from  the  throat  of  Milihousc, 
the  tAvo  dashed  headlong  out  of  the  wood  in  pursuit  of  the  rob 
bers  Avho  had  charge  of  die  fugitive  negroes. 

At  this  sound,  as  Porgy  had  anticipated,  the  outlaw,  Nora's, 
who  had  been  at  the  work  of  unlading  the  wagon,  naturally 
[topped  up  his  head  to  see  what  was  the  matter.  The  vigilant 
eye  of  Frampton  saw  it.  He  could  have  shot  the  fellow  even  in 
the  single  instant  of  opportunity  which  was  thus  afforded  him;  but 
lie  remembered  his  instructions,  and  forbore  ;  wisely,  it  seemed, 
for  Nora's,  seeing  the  charge  of  two  well-mounted  horsemen  upon 
his  companions,  and  recognising  them  as  new-comers,  whoso 
reinforcement  to  the  tAvo  customers  whom  they  had  already 
found  so  troublesome,  might  well  lead  to  doubts  of  his  own 
safety,  concluded  to  see  to  this  matter,  without  any  regard  to 
the  spoils  contained  ill  the  Avagon.  Seizing  his  rifle,  accord 
ingly,  he  leaped  out  of  the  vehicle,  but  with  singular  ill-fortune. 
His  feet  alighted  upon  a  hamper  of  Irish  potatoes,  part  of  the 
contents  of  the  Avagon,  which  rolled  away  beneath  him,  and  laid 
him  at  length  with  his  face  to  the  ground. 

Before  he  could  recover  himself,  Lance  Frampton  was  upon 
him.  The  rifle  of  the  outlaAV  was  wrested  from  his  grasp  ;  and, 
with  the  vigorous  young  lieutenant  grasping  him  firmly  by  the 
throat,  John  Sylvester  by  the  legs,  and  Pompey,  junior,  literally 
sitting  astraddle  upon  his  back,  Dick  Norris  resigned  himself  to 
his  fate,  after  a  few  spasmodic  but  ineffectual  struggles !  The 
whole  affair  consumed  but  a  feAV  minutes,  and  was  concluded  by 
Lance  Frampton  securing  his  prisoner  within  the  wagon  by  the 
strongest  cordage,  scientifically  knotted ;  while  John  Sylvester, 
pistol  in  hand,  Avas  seated  at  his  head,  instructed  t»  quiet  him 
with  a  bullet,  should  he  -prove  troublesome.  Frampton,  mean 


114  WoOlH  ItAI'T. 

while,  vith  Pomp,  stole  away  to  tlie  bushes  opposite,  prepared 
to  afford  succor  to  his  friends  whenever  there  should  be  need 
and  opportunity. 

Meanwhile,  Bostwick,  the  sq:atter,  lying  snug  in  his  place  of 
watch,  contemplating  his  enemy  only  in  the  direction  of  the  car 
nage,  was  confounded  by  the  sudden  appearance  of  the  horse 
men  in  his  rear.  With  their  shout  and  charge,  he  became  almost 
instantly  aware  of  the  assault  upon,  and  the  capivity  of  Norris ; 
for  though  the  struggle  had  taken  place  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  vehicle,  of  which  he  had  but  a  very  imperfect  view  from  the 
spot  where  he  crouched,  he  could  yet  see  enough  to  assure  him 
of  such  an  inequality  of  force  between  the  parties  as  must  be 
fatal  to  his  colleagues.  He  was  too  heedful  of  himself  to  incur 
any  unnecessary  perils  in  the  effort  to  succor  his  companion ; 
and,  indeed,  could  not  well  have  done  so,  at  least  at  that  dis 
tance  and  with  his  rifle,  as  it  was  impossible  so  to  distinguish 
any  of  the  writhing  figures  upon  the  ground,  as  to  be  sure  that 
he  should  not  draw  his  bead  upon  his  friend,  rather  than  his  foe. 
Besides,  he  well  knew,  that  to  show  himself,  in  any  demonstra 
tion  upon  the  new  enemies  in  the  rear,  he  must  only  become 
exposed  to  the  shot  of  those  whom  he  felt  to  be  somewhere 
harboring,  and  on  the  watch,  in  front. 

To  crawl  backward  —  to  increase  the  distance  between  him 
self  and  all  the^e  parties,  his  own  as  we'll  as  the  rest — became 
now  the  selfish  policy  of  the  squatter.  He  could  do  nothing  to 
help  his  comrades — the  negroes  would  be  recovered — two  of 
his  associates  were  slain  already  —  he  himself  was  in  danger, 
unless  he  moved  promptly  away;  and  besides,  he  was  already 
in  possession  of  the  most  valuable  of  the  portable  spoils  -*—  the 
strong-box  of  the  widow,  having  the  important  papers,  as  virtu 
ally  important  to  the  rich  M'Kewn  as  to  the  squatter,  Bostwick  — 
to  say  nothing  of  the  fifty  guineas  in  money,  which,  he  had  the 
widow's  word  for  it,  was  in  the  strong-box  also ;  and  of  which 
he  had  already  determined  to  betray  nothing  to  his  comrades 
It  required  no  great  argument  to  persuade  him  to  be  content 
with  his  acquisitions,  and  to  draw  off  in  season,  no  matter  what 
fate  should  befall  his  companions.  He  crawled  back,  accord 
ingly,  slowly  and  with  admirable  circumspection;  and  so 
changed  his  ground  as  to  place  himself  out  of  immediate  reach 


BCAMPEE    LdT)    SCUFFLE;     FLIGHT   AND    FIGHT.          l-.j 

of  eitlier  of  the  several  groups  into  which  his  assailants  were 
divided. 

Lut  one  anxiety  alone  prevented  him  from  utterly  taking  his 
departure.  lie  would,  unhesitatingly,  have  gone,  were  he  sure 
that  his  comrades  were  all  slain,  or  certain  to  he  slain,  without 
speaking.  But  the  doubt  occurred  to  him. 

"  Xorris  is  taken  !  Should  he  confess  ?  Should  others  he 
taken  and  confess  1  Thar's  the  trouble.  Thar's  the  danger 
and  the  resk." 

This  reflection  disquieted  him.  He  lingered  in  sight  of  the 
field  of  action,  fully  assured  that  he  ought  to  fly,  yet  with  that 
incertitude  of  mood  which  left  him  incapable  of  determination. 

"  If  they  confess,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  there's  nothing  for  rue 
but  to  cut  and  run.  The  country  would  be  too  hot  for  me  !" 

Why  should  he  not  leave  it]  is  the  que.3f.ion  that  might  occur 
to  anybody  else.  But  the  wretch  was  not  without  his  ties,  his 
affections,  his  sensibilities,  such  as  they  were  —  and  when  he 
thought  of  the  necessity  of  leaving  the  country,  a  picture  of 
three  young  children  —  one  tall,  sad-eyed  girl  among  them — • 
grew  vividly  up  before  his  eyes.  He  had  a  wife,  too,  but  he 
saw  nothing  of  her.  It  was  the  three  children  alone  that 
formed  the  spell,  so  potent,  about  the  heart  of  the  bad  and 
seemingly  heartless  man.  Strange  that  such  a  creature  should 
so  fuel  and  think  at  such  a  moment !  Yet  not  strange  either. 

Let  us  follow  our  partisans.  The  wild  halloo  of  their  onset 
soon  made  their  presence  and  purpose  apparent  to  the  persons 
they  pursued.  Looking  about  them  quickly,  one  cried  to  the 
other  :  — 

"  Jimini !  They're  Marion's  men,  as  I'm  a  sinner  !  Here's 
a  fix !  Cast  the  niggers  loose,  Jeff,  and  use  a  bloody  spur  ef 
you  knows  how.  We  must  .scatter." 

"  How  many  do  you  see,  Tony  ?"  cried  the  other. 

"  Only  two  as  yit ;  but  they  rush  as  ef  there  was  a  dozen. 
They've  got  the  heels  of  us  too,  I  reckon  !  There's  no  racing 
with  such  a  nag  as  this.  I'm  for  the  swamp,  Jeff!  I  can't 
trust  the  run,  I  must  try  the  dodge  !  And  you  better  do  the 
same,  but  make  your  push  for  t,;ie  hammock  lower  down.  We 
must  scatter !" 

Wheeling  to  the  right,  as  he  spoke  these  words,  one  of  the 


126  \VOO.IA'11AFT. 

outlaws  made  off  for  the  denser  woods  which  conducted  to  the 
heart  of  the  swamp, -and  was  soon  lost  to  the  sight  of  his  com 
panion  in  the  thick  undergrowth  of  that  region.  The  other, 
whether  less  apprehensive  of  danger,  or  more  confident  of  his 
horse,  which  was  young  and  of  tolerable  swiftness,  seemed  to 
hesitate.  He  bade  the  negroes  run  ahead,  and  hide  themselves ; 
then,  once  more  looking  over  his  shoulder,  he  felt  cfce  necessity 
of  going  off  at  all  speed,  and  did  so  with  the  best  impulse  of 
whip  arid  rowel.  Porgy  and  Sergeant  Millhouse  were  soon  up 
with  the  negroes,  who  cheered  them  with  hearty  shouts  as  they 
drew  nigh. 

"  ])a  maussa  !"  was  the  cry  of  his  own  people,  almost  with  one 
voice.  "Hurrah,  maussa!  Gorrah  Mighty  bress  you!  How 
you  do  ?" 

"  Young,  boys,  young  and  lively  !  God  bless  you !  How 
many  of  these  tory  rascals  arc  there1?" 

"  Only  two  ob  them,  maussa ;  one  push  right  ahead  t'rough 
de  woods  —  t'udder  one  gone  keen  for  de  swamp.  Push  hard, 
maussa,  you  sure  for  catch  'em.  He  hoss  no  better  dan  cow  for 
run." 

"  Don't  mind  the  fellow  in  the  swamp,  sergeant !  We  can 
look  for  him  as  we  return.  Go  back,  boys,  to  the  wagon,  and 
help  Lieutenant  Frainpton  to  put  the  things  into  it  again,  or  you 
will  lose  all  your  chance  for  coffee  and  molasses.  Now,  sergeant, 
as  you  are  left-handed,  take  the  right  of  this  robber,  while  I  take 
the  left.  His  nag  will  be  a  good  one,  if  we  do  not  overhaul  him 
between  us  in  the  next  three  hundred  yards." 

No  more  words  !  They  were  off,  separated  by  an  interval  of 
fifty  yards,  perhaps,  and  coursing  through  the  pine  woods  at  a 
tearing  gallop.  A  few  minutes  hard  riding  gave  them  a  fresh 
glimpse  of  the  fugitive.  He  was  making  up  for  lost  time,  and 
going  through  the  undergrowth,  and  among  the  thick-set  trees, 
which  began  to  approach  each  other  more  and  more  closely,  at 
a  rate,  which,  to  those  who  have  never  beheld  a  fox  chase  in  the 
south,  would  seem  sheer  desperation.  The  fellow  was  a  good 
rider,  however,  and  an  experienced  hunter,  born  in  the  bush, 
and  of  kindred  to  the  fox  himself!" 

"He  goes  well,  but  it  can't  last !"  muttered  Porgy,  as  he  ap 
plied  his  persuaders  anew  to  the  flanks  of  his  own  high-spirited 


SCAMPER    AND    SCUFFLK  ;    FLK7I-IT    AND    FHM1T.  .127 

courser.  It  was  wonderful  to  see  how  well  the  animal  sped 
with  such  a  bulk  upon  his  back  !  But  the  stood  was  a  ]>  wer- 
ful  one,  chosen  hecdfully  with  reference  to  the  severe  duty 
which  lie  was  required  to  perform.  The  fugitive  looked  about 
him  as  he  fled.  —  The  partisan  captain  could  already  count  his 
«r .".ins.  The  space  was  reduced  between  them.  The  outlaw 
soon  made  this  discovery.  He  extricated  one  of  his  pistols  from 
the  holster,  and  knit  his  teeth  firmly  together,  with  the  air  of  a 
man  who  already  anticipates  the  worst.  Porgy  was  too  good  a 
soldier  not  to  calculate  on  a  certain  degree  of  danger,  in  such  an 
enterprise  as  that  which  he  had  in  hand;  —  but,  as  he  was  apt 
to  phrase  it  himself — 

"  Danger  is  a  part  of  the  contract !  It  is  to  be  counted  on, 
but  not  considered  !  He  who  stops  to  consider  the  danger  never 
goo"  into  battle  !  No  wise  man,  embarking  in  such  an  amuse- 
Ta---.ii1-  as  war,  ever  considers  its  mischances  as  likely  to  occur  in 
his  own  case.  He  knows  the  fatal  sisters  have  singled  out 
certain  favorites  for  Valhalla,  but  he  always  takes  for  granted 
that  they  have,  overlooked  himself!  He  relies,  always,  on  his 
peculiar  personal  star,  and  goes  into  battle  —  not  to  be  killed, 
but  t«.  kill!" 

With  such  reflections,  our  Captain  Porgy,  corpulent  as  he  is, 
was  very  apt  to  behave  in  battle,  as  we  are  told  the  Berserkirs, 
or  wild  warriors  of  the  Scandinavians,  were  wont  to  behave.  To 
clash,  with  a  sort  of  frenzy,  into  the  worst  of  dangers,  totally 
heedless  of  them  all,  as  if  bearing  a  charmed  1'fe  —  and  only 
seeking  to  destroy  !  And  such  a  practice,  by  the  way,  is  very 
apt  to  carry  with  it  its  own  securities.  A  rage  that  blinds  the 
champion  to  all  dangers,  and  makes  him  totally  unconscious  of 
all  fears,  is  very  apt  to  inspire  fear  in  the  enemy  who  beholds 
his  approach.  The  onset  of  Porgy  was  well  calculated  to 
prompt  such  feelings.  A  mountain  in  a  passion,  and  in  progress 
—  a  human  avalanche  descending  upon  the  plain  —  crashing, 
rending,  overwhelming,  as  it  goes  —  such,  in  some  small  degree, 
was  the  image  presented  to  the  mind  of  the  trembling  enemy, 
seeing  the  headlong  rush  of  our  plethoric  captain  ! 

Our  outlaw  was  soon  enabled  to  distinguish  his  chief  pursuer. 
He  knew  his  man  as  he  approached  —  knew  his  character — his 
fierce,  headlong  valor,  the  power  of  his  arm.  the  fleetness  of  his 


128  WOO  DOHA  FT. 

steed.  His  mind  became  oppressed  heavily,  with  the  sense  of 
whelming  danger,  as  he  saw  the  space  lessening  momently  be 
tween  them.  He  now  saw  his  other  assailant,  Sergeant  Mill- 
house,  who,  less  rapidly,  but  quite  as  certainly,  was  making 
toward  him  on  the  right.  He  felt  very  sure  that  the  game  was 
up  with  him  unless  some  interposition  of  good  fortune  —  call  it, 
if  you  will,  his  gallows  destiny— should  baffle  the  pistols,  or  the 
swords,  of  his  pursuers.  The  outlaw  had  no  remarkable  prop 
erties  of  mind  or  courage;  —  he  was  only  one  of  the  myriad 
of  ordinary  men,  who,  as  we  are  told  by  the  dramatic  poet,  issue 
from  one  common  mould  ;  nature,  after  their  being  cast,  ashamed 
of  her  own  handy-work,  and  sending  them  forth  into  the  world 
without  putting  any  mark  upon  them  !  But  he  was  a  drilled 
and  practised  ruffian  ;  had  served  for  years  as  a  soldier ;  as  a 
robber;  as  a  pirate;  —  and,  from  habit,  and  induration,  was  a 
man  with  whom  the  exigency  only  brought  out  the  coolness,  the 
determination  and  resource.  He  did  not  show  his  pistol,  but 
he  cocked  it !  He  saw  the  course  which  Porgy  rode,  and  he 
slightly  inclined  his  horse  to  the  right,  in  order  that  he  should 
use  his  pistol-hand  more  freely.  Porgy  suspected  his  object  and 
made  a  corresponding  change  in  his  own  course.  He  ~?as  now 
sufficiently  nigh  to  the  robber  to  make  himself  heard.  He  ac 
cordingly  cried  out:  — 

"  Halt,   you   d d   outlaw,  and   surrender,  or  I'll  cut  you 

down  in  your  tracks  !" 

The  fellow,  slightly  glancing  over  his  left  shoulder,  "  grinned 
horribly  a  ghastly  smile,"  but  made  no  answer.  The  captain 
was  near  enough,  by  this  time,  to  fancy  that  he  heard  the  click 
of  the  pistol  lock ;  but  it  was  fancy  only.  The  outlaw  had 
cocked  it  several  seconds  before.  The  latter  glanced  uneasily 
at  Sergeant  Millhouse,  who  was  now  approaching  him  on  the 
right ;  and  felt  the  necessity  of  crippling  one  of  his  enemies  at 
once.  By  this  time,  Porgy  was  preparing  himself  also;  but  his 
slightest  motion  seemed  to  become  apparent  to  the  fugitive. 
Sharply  applying  both  rowels  to  his  horse's  flanks,  the  great 
sabre  of  the  partisan  captain  was  drawn  in  an  instant,  and  the 
flash  of  it,  as  it  suddenly  waved  in  air,  gleamed  unpleasantly  in 
the  eyes  of  the  man  it  threatened.  He  kept  his  coolness,  how 
ever,  and  his  course  ;  and,  as  Porjry  came  on  with  a  speed  sud 


wi  AND  SCUFFLE;  FI/KJHT  AND  FRUIT.        129 

ienly  accelerated,  and  while  he  was  measuring  the  distance 
which  he  should  first  overcome  .before  rising  in  his  stirrups  to 
execute  the  fatal  stroke,  the  outlaw  pulled  trigger  under  his 
If-, ft  arm. 

The  eteed  of  Porgy  swayed  round  at  the  flash,  threw  out  his 
f  rr.  feet  wildly,  then  settled  heavily  down  upon  the  earth,  in 
C~:-.  immediate  agonies  of  death  !  Porgy,  however,  had  sufficient 
warning  that  the  animal  was  hit,  and,  releasing  his  feet  from 
the  stirr.im  as  the  beast  was  falling,  he  escaped  from  being 
ci'iv'hed  .,eT  :>ath  his  weight.  He  recovered  his  legs  with  some 
.rf.H-t,  Int  without  injury.  The  horse  of  the  outlaw  kept  on  : 
but  there  had  been  a  pause  in  his  progress,  which,  however  brief, 
had  enabled  Sergeant  Millhouse  to  get  almost  within  striking 
distance..  But  he  was  on  the  right  of  the  outlaw,  who,  ignorant 
of  the  left-handed,  and  single-handed,  condition  of  the  remain 
ing  pursuer,  fancied  that  some  change  in  their  relations  was 
necessary  to  enable  the  other  to  use  his  sword.  But  he  really 
saw  no  sword,  and  his  object  was  simply  to  escape  the  pistol. 
But,  against  this,  Millhouse  was  desperately  resolved.  He  had 
litherto  kept  his  steed  rather  in  hand.  He  now  plied  him  with 
the  terrible  Spanish  rowels  which  he  wore,  and  which  he  never 
iised  but  in  extreme  cases.  To  the  surprise  of  the  outlaw,  who 
had  judged  of  the  horse  by  his  previous  performances,  the 
animal  made  but  a  single  bound  or  two,  to  bring  his  rider  within 
striking  distance  ;  then,  as  the  outlaw  fumbled  to  extricate  his 
remaining  pistol  from  the  left  holster,  he  beheld,  to  his  increased 
surprise,  a  gleaming  sabre  suddenly  plucked  from  an  invisible 
scabbard,  and  wielded,  with  a  wonderful  ease,  in  the  left  hand 
of  his  enemy  !  He  bowed  his  body  to  the  opposite  side  of  the 
saddle,  drove  the  spurs  into  his  beast,  bore  down  upon  the  curb 
to  the  left  —  almost  swinging  the  horse  about  as  he  rode  —  and 
all  this  in  a  single  moment  —  but  all  too  late!  A  swift,  sharp 
flash,  as  of  lightning,  seemed  to  darken  his  sight,  and  the  next 
moment  the  keen,  heavy  steel  might  have  been  heard  to  gride 
through  the  solid  skull  of  the  victim.  Down  he  sunk,  hanging 
to  one  stirrup,  while  the  frightened  horse,  dragging  him  forward, 
darted  blindly  into  a  clump  of  scrubby  oaks,  and  became  tangled 
and  held,  until  caught  by  Millhouse.  Captain  Porgy  came  up 
a  few  seconds  after  almost  as  soon,  indeed,  as  Millhouse,  who 

6* 


180  WOODCRAFT. 

t 

had  just  alighted  to  extricate  and  examine  the  body.  They 
\>oth  bent  over  the  fellow  in  this  scrutiny,  but  to  neither  Was  the 
riciim  known. 

"  The  face  of  the  rascal  is  strange  to  me,"  said  Porgy,  "  fe-./a 
•lint's  a  strange  fact  in  my  experience ;  for,  in  tlrj  seven  years' 
»var,  I  fancy  I've  made  the  acquaintance,  in  some  way  01  ».  thf:. 
,)f  all  the  rascals  in  the  country.     Do  you  know  anything  j'fcoul 
him  sergeant  ?" 

"  Only  that  he  ?'*  a  rascal,  captain,  or  was  so  a  wh'le  -,go ;  an-', 
that  he's  dead  now  as  Job's  turkey,  with  a  loss  of  jul  the  profi  j 
of  his  trade.  I  never  seed  him  afore." 

"  The  scoundrel !  Had  he  been  Christian  enough  to  havs 
suffered  himself  to  have  been  cut  down  five  minutes  ago,  and 
before  that  last  pistol-shot,  I  could  have  been  sorry  for  him  1 
But  he  has  done  for  my  noble  gray,  the  best  of  friends ;  a  horse 
that  has  borne  his  own  flesh  and  mine  so  long  to  the  satisfaction 
of  both  !  I  feel,  sergeant,  as  if  I  could  blubber  like  a  b~>y  over 
his  first  colt !" 

Our  two  partisans  did  not  waste  any  unnecessary  time,  yc.i 
may  be  sure,  in  a  fruitless  examination  of  the  outlaw's  body  ; 
nor  did  they  consume  much  thought  in  speculating  upon  an 
event  that  had  too  frequently  occurred  in  their  experience  not 
to  leave  them  comparatively  callous. 

"  See  what  the  rascal  has  about  him,  sergeant,"  said  Porgy  • 
and,  like  a  good  trooper,  perfectly  aware  of  what  such  cases 
usually  required,  Millhouse  searched  the  clothes,  and  turned  out 
the  "  silver  lining"  of  the  pockets  of  the  dead  man,  with  all  the 
dexterity  of  a  Parisian  chiffonier.  He  stripped  him  of  every 
thing  of  value ;  and,  seeing  that  he  wore  a  tolerable  pair  of 
English  boots,  he  had  them  off  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye;  — 
though  how  the  thing  was  done  —  our  chiffonier  with  one  hand 
only  —  it  is  as  difficult  to  describe  as  to  conceive.  His  search 
into  the  pockets  of  the  outlaw  was  productive  of  no  very  aston 
ishing  results.  They  yielded  up  only  a  few  English  shilling?1 
and  sixpences,  an  empty  flask  —  the  odor  of  which  still  pun- 
gently  declared  for  its  former  contents  —  a  clasp,  and  a  dirk- 
knife,  extra  flints  and  steel,  a  small  finger-ring,  and  the  fragment 
of  a  bracelet  or  necklace.  The  ring  had  been  worn  about  the 
neck,  suspended  by  a  faded  and  soiled  viband,  which  had  once 


SCAMPER   AND   SCUFFLE;    FL1G         AND    FIGHT.  131 

been  blue.  Of  what  was  this  the  miserable  token  ?  Was  it 
love,  or  gratitude,  or  a  filial  feeling,  which  had  hung  this  orna 
ment  about  the  neck  of  the  ruffian  ?  There  is  no  record  !  The 
memorial  was  of  a  nameless  virtue  ! 

Captain  Porgy  surveyed  thece  things,  as  they  were  severally 
produced  by  the  search  of  the  sergeant,  and,  after  the  scrutiny 
was  over,  he  yielded  them,  with  the  grace  of  a  feudal  baron,  to 
the  possession  of  the  latter. 

"  Keep  'ern,  Millhonse,  until  you  find  the  proper  heirs  foi 
them." 

The  sergeant  grinned,  as  he  replied  — 

"  I  reckon  they'll  be  rcther  slow,  cappin,  to  ask  after  'em." 

"  Send  them  to  me,  should  they  ever  be  so  bold,  and  these 
shall  furnish  my  answer,"  quoth  Porgy,  at  the  same  time  taking 
possession  of  the  holsters  and  pistols  —  a  very  useful  pair  of  the 
bull  species  —  which  the  outlaw  had  carried. 

"  These  and  the  horse  shall  be  mine,  Millhonse ;  and  then  I 
lose  by  the  exchange.  My  brave  old  gray  !  He  was  worth  a 
score  of  such  nags  as  this!" 

And  here  he  walked  round  the  still  trembling  animal,  taken 
from  the  outlaw. 

"  Yet  he  must  do  !  He  has  bone  and  strength  enough,  per 
haps,  for  a  season  in  camp  —  peace  and  no  active  service  !  He 
will  do  to  ride  about  the  plantation,  and  for  a  Saturday  hunt. 
He  must  do.  The  devil  take  the  unchristian  dog  who  should 
kill  a,  man's  horse  in  sheer  wantonness,  and  when  it  couldn't 
profit  him  at  all!" 

"  He  worn't  to  know  that,  cappin,"  was  the  suggestion  of 
Millhouse. 

"  He's  wiser  by  this  time  !  He  should  have  known  it.  Did 
he  expect  to  escape  us  both  ?  Did  he  think  I'd  leave  such  an 
animal  as  mine  unrevenged  ?  If  you  hadn't  cut  him  down,  ser 
geant,  and  I  had  laid  hands  on  him,  I'd  have  scalped  him  !  As 
it  is,  considering  his  condition,  I  forgive  him.  God  forbid  that  I 
should  harbor  malice  against  the  dead.  But,  were  he  living  !  — 
were  he  living!" 


1S2  WOODCRAFT. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

DELIVERANCE. 

OUR  captain  of  partisans,  after  this  ebullition  of  pagaA  feeling 
;MM!  Christian  philosophy,  having  mounted  the  horse  of  the  ruf 
fian,  taken,  perforce,  in  exchange  for  his  own,  proceeded,  in 
conF.idevfihle  sulk-ness,  in  the  direction  of  the  scene  of  former 
action,  and  where  Lance  Frampton  remained  in  possession  of 
the  wagon.  He  was  followed,  more  slowly,  by  Millhouse  ;  that 
excellent  trooper,  following  a  practice  that  had  been  too  much 
taught  by  the  cruel  war  through  which  he  had  gone,  leaving  the 
carcass  of  the  slain  outlaw  upon  the  spot  where  he  had  fallen  — 
having  no  sort  of  notion,  apparently,  that  humanity  required 
him  to  give  it  better  sepulture  than  that  afforded  by  a  wintry 
forest.  We  shall  see,  however,  that  the  sergeant's  omissions 
were  repaired,  at  a  more  becoming  moment,  by  his  superior. 

The  negroes,  meanwhile,  still  roped  in  pairs,  had  returned  in 
safety  to  the  wagon,  and  had  been  set  free  from  their  villein 
bonds  by  the  ready  couteau  de  chasse  of  Lieutenant  Frampton. 
Our  captain,  on  his  return,  found  the  latter  in  quiet  possession 
of  the  field  of  action,  with  the  ruffian  Norris  well  hampered  with 
ploughlines  under  the  tail  of  the  wagon,  and  yoked  to  one  of 
the.  wheels.  He  deigned  but  a  single  glance  at  the  captive,  who 
lay  coiled  up  like  a  snake,  looking  quite  as  full  of  venom,  and 
just  as  ready  for  the  spring  at  his  enemy's  breast.  But  the 
ability  no  longer  seconded  the  will.  Captain  Porgy  could  spare 
as  little  of  his  regard  to  the  grouped  negroes,  who  were  all  busy 
in  repacking  the  wagon  with  its  contents,  which  had  been  so 
unceremoniously  tumbled  out  by  the  captive  outlaw.  He  had 
recognised  the  voice  of  his  own  slaves,  even  in  the  hurry  of  hip 
pursuit  of  the  fugitives  ;  but  he  had  not  then  scanned  their  faces 
Their  familiar  features,  and  affectionate  assurances  of  love 
touched  the  soul  of  the  sensual  and  the  selfish  soldier,  who  wr>* 
not  wholly  made  of  clay. 


DELIVER  A  NCR.  133 

"  Thank  you,  hoys  —  thank  yon,  my  good  fellows.  God  bless 
you  !  I'm  really  glad  to  see  yon  again,  all  of  yon  ;  and  to  see 
that  the  tories  havn't  quite  eaten  jon  ?J1 :  but,  as  for  shaking 
hands  jnst  now,  that's  impossible.  We  must  do  our  work  fiist 
Keep  at  yours,  like  good  fellows ;  shovel  in  the  kegs ;  and  you 
shall  all  be  rewarded.  But  now  to  business ;  and  first,  Lance, 
about  the  carriage,  the  widow  and  her  party,  and  the  rest  of 
these  robbers.  What  is  your  report?  What  hare  you  seen  ? 
What  heard  ?  Speak  —  we  have  no  time  to  lose  !" 

"  Well,  captain,  there's  nothing  to  report  but  what  you  see 
for  yourself.  There's  the  lady,  I  reckon  —  it's  a  woman,  you 
see,  sitting  bolt  upright  in  the  front  seat  of  the  carriage.  At 
least,  it  looks  like  a  woman,  by  the  dress ;  but  I  hain't  seen  it 
move  once  since  I've  been  watching  it.  I've  seen  nobody,  and 
nothing  else,  though  I've  kept  a  bright  look  out  over  all  the 
track  between,  and  the  boys  have  been  scouting  jest  about  here, 
and  within  reach  of  my  rifle.  I  didn't  want  them  to  risk  them 
selves  by  going  too  nigh  to  the  carriage." 

"  You  were  right,  particularly  as  you  could  see  nothing  stir 
ring  in  that  quarter.  That's  something  singular.  Our  demon 
stration  should  have  caused  Fordham  and  young  Eveleigh  to 
show  themselves,  unless,  indeed,  they  were  hurt,  or  felt  them 
selves  to  be  watched  by  enemies.  Have  you  kept  your  eyes, 
Lance,  on  that  long  grass  around  the  carriage  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  pretty  much,  but  couldn't  see  so  much  as  a  sparrow 
stirring  anywhere.  It's  a  dead  calm,  as  far  as  I  could  see." 

"  Strange  !  We've  chased  two  of  these  rascals.  Here's  a 
third.  Are  there  more  of  them  1  John  and  Pomp  reported 
half  a  dozen  or  more.  They  were  probably  mistaken.  How 
now,  Pomp  —  John?" 

The  two  negroes  disagreed  ;  but  they  were  positive  as  to  five 
or  six  assailants  on  the  ground. 

"  S'pose  you  ask  him,  captain,"  said  Lance,  pointing  to  the 
captive  outlaw. 

"  To  be  sure  —  right !  Hark  ye,  fellow,  who  are  you.  What's 
yon?  name  ?  And  how  many  had  you  in  your  company  ?" 

The  fellow  glared  up  fiercely  at  the  inquirer,  but  made  no 
answer. 

"  Sullen,  eh  ?     Well,  we  will  find  a  way  to  make  you  speak ! 


134  WOO  i  )CK  API. 

There's  no  use  to  waste  words  upon  tins  scoundrel.  We  mus,t 
pit  him  to  the  hempen  question  !  A  rope,  with  a  swing-ing  limb 
at  cne  end  and  a  rogue  f»fc  the  other,  will  probably  find  an  an 
swer  quick  enough,  and  sometimes  even  rises  into  eloquence. 
The  &hoit  way,  now,  is  the.  best  Mount  you,  Lance,  and  we'll 
all  three  make  a  rush  for  the  carriage.  We  can't  be  mousing 
all  day  with  fruitless  conjectures.  Here  comes  Tom,  too,  just 
in  season.  We  can  trust  him  to  keep  watch  over  this  rascal. 
Here,  Tom  'light,  and  take  these  pistols — keep  them  within 
six  inches  of  this  fellow's  head  ;  and  give  him  his  physic,  a  full 
dose  from  both  bottles,  if  he  offers  to  give  you  trouble,  or  if  any 
body  comes  to  help  him.  'Light,  I  say,  you  lazy  rascal,  and  be 
quick !" 

"  Ki !  Mass  Porgy  ! — you  talk  as  ef  I  hadn't  a  hundred  poim' 
of  pot  and  kettle  on  dis  nigger  t'ighs  [thighs] !  Gib  'em  time,  I 
tell  you  !  Here,  you  boys  !  You  Pomp,  and  John,  and  Dick, 
and  Bob  —  enty  I  know  you  all,  you  han'some  pot-black  rascals! 
You  no  see  wha'  I  want  ?  Help  tak'  off  some  of  dese  pretic'lars 
wha'  I  hab  yer  —  'nough  to  bury  any  man,  eben  ef  he  bin  name 
Samson !" 

The  negroes  eagerly  went  to  Tom's  assistance. 

"  Why,  brudder  Tom  you  is  load  mos'  like  a  mule,"  quoth 
John  almost  pulling  away  the  thigh  of  the  cook  in  the  endeavor 
to  withdraw  a  gridiron,  without  first  remarking  that  it  was  well 
strapped  to  the  member. 

"  An'  you  pulls  to  #wloa«d  dis  mule,  berry  much  as  ef  you  was 
an  ass,  brudder  John!  Dere  —  you  hab  'em  now:  you  sec  the 
'pen'  (depend)  'pon  dat  little  strap  and  bucl3e  !" 

Tom  was  relieved  after  a  while,  and,  now  alight,  was  provided 
with  the  pistols  taken  from  the  outlaw  whom  Millhouse  had  cut 
down.  He  placed  himself  at  the  head  of  the  captive,  Norris. 

"Now,  buckrah,"  saict  he  to  the  ruffian,  "jes  you  be  easy  and 
cibil,  whey  you  is,  or  I'll  g'e  [give]  you  the  benefit  of  dese  yer 
two  barking  puppies  !" — showing  the  twr   pistols  in  ugly  prox 
imity  to  the  outlaw's  jaws  as  he  spoke.      .Pom  was  an  old  sol 
dier ;  cool  and  confident ;  who  stood  ready  at  all  times,  to  exe 
cute    his   master's   orders  without   the    smallest    scruple.      H« 
always  rose  too,  on  an  occasion  like  the  present,  in  his  sense  of 
what  was  due  to  his  elevation 


DELIVEllAXCE.  135 

"Niggers!"  said  lie  to  the  clustering  slaves,  " you  kin  stan' 
hack  dere,  and  not  crowd  too  close  'pon  de  buckrah  wha'  I  got 
to  shoot,  may-be  !" 

Captain  Porgy,  mounted,  as  we  have  seen,  upon  the  horse  of 
the  outlaw  by  whom  his  own  had  been  shot,  having  seen  that 
his  two  comrades  were  quite  ready,  now  gave  the  signal,  which 
was  responded  to  by  a  tremendous  shout  from  the  throat  of 
Sergeant  Millhouse.  The  worthy  captain  took  the  lead,  and, 
allowing  a  little  interval  between  them,  the  three  partisans 
darted  forward  at  a  smart  gallop,  riding,  as  they  had  every 
reason  to  apprehend,  into  something  like  a  wolf-trap.  The  trap 
had,  indeed,  been  set,  as  we  have  sufficiently  shown;  but  we 
have  also  seen  in  what  manner  its  teeth  were  drawn.  Our 
gallant  partisans  were  unassailed  by  any  foe,  and  encountered 
no  strange  presence,  until  they  were  within  thirty  yards  of  the 
carriage  ;  when  the  overseer,  Fordham,  sprang  up  from  the 
bushes  in  which  he  had  so  long  been  crouching,  and  cried  out 
his  welcome  to  the  strangers. 

"Friends!  friends!"  he  shouted,  dropping  his  rifle  to  the 
ground,  and  clapping  his  hands.  "  We're  none  but  friends  here, 
now,  I  reckon,  captain.  God  be  praised  for  sending  you  jest 
at  the  light  moment !" 

The  troopers  drew  up  suddenly. 

"  Who  is  that  1"  demanded  Porgy. 

"  Why,  don't  you  remember  me,  Captain  ?  Fordham,  you 
know,  that  you  used  to  see  at  Major  Eveleigh's,  and " 

"  Ah  !  Fordham  ;  —yes  !  How  are  you,  my  good  fellow,  and 
all  1  Are  you  all  well  ?" 

"  Yes,  thank  God,  and  mighty  glad  to  see  you,  as  you  bring 
us  safety  !  Glad  to  see  you  at  any  time,  captain  j  but  prt'tici- 
larlyjest  now,  when  we  didn't  know  whether  we  should  ever 
have  to  sup  upon  anything  better  than  lead  and  cold  steel  agin  ! 
We've  had  a  mighty  sharp  scrimmaging  here  for  more  than  three 
hours,  and  been  in  such  a  stew  as  I  don't  want  to  be  in  ag'in." 

"  Not  like  the  stews  of  Tom's  making  then,"  quoth  our  cap 
tain,  solto  voce  ;  "  they  are  such  as  a  man  might  swim  in  without 
feeling  too  hot  with  the  exercise,  or  getting  beyond  his  depth  at 
any  time !  Stew !  do  you  say,  Mr.  Fordham !  I  trust  I  can 
say  '  well  done'  to  you !" 


136  WOODCRAFT. 

'  Well,  it's  pretty  well,  then,  I  tell  you !  I'm  tl  inking,  coib 
side-ring  all  things,  we  made  a  pretty  good  out  of  it  —  Master 
Arthur  Eveleigh  and  me  !  But  God  be  praised  for  bringing  you 
when  lie  did  ;  for  I  don't  know  how  it  would  ha'  turned  out  in 
^.he  /rnd.  Even  rf  we  could  ha'  stood  it  out  tell  dark  night, 
~lien,  their  greater  number  would  have  brought  them  down  upon 
us  ;  and  on  which  side,  there  would  be  no  telling.  You've  saved 
us,  captain,  I  tell  you;  and  thank  you  for  it  —  and  bless  Uo<i 
tor  it,  and  all  other  marcies." 

By  this  time,  they  were  joined  by  young  Arthur  Eveleigh, 
who  showed  himself,  rising  out  of  the  bushy  fastnesses,  as  soon 
as  he  heard  Fordham  cry  aloud  in  tones  of  confidence  and  cheer. 
He  promptly  came  forward  and  joined  the  party,  and  was  hur 
riedly  introduced  by  Fordham,  to  the  captain  of  partisans,  but 
not  before  the  worthy  fellow  had  embraced  the  youth  with  such 
a  sense  of  joyous  relief,  as  was  natural  to  a  heart  so  loyal 
under  the  circumstances.  He  then  brought  the  youth  forward, 
saying : — 

"  This,  Captain  Porgy,  is  Master  Arthur  Eveleigh,  son  of  the 
widow  Eveleigh,  whom  you  remember.  He's  done  mighty  good 
sarvice  in  this  scrimmaging  business.  He'll  be  a  man,  I  tell 
you,  ef  ever  there  was  one." 

"Good!"  answered  Porgy,  alighting  and  grasping  the  hand 
of  the  blushing  youth,  with  an  encouraging  frankness,  "  You've 
begun  early,  and  well,  Master  Arthur ;  and  a  good  beginning  is 
always  half  the  battle !  I'm  glad  of  it  for  your  sake,  and  that 
of  your  parents !  But,  talking  of  your  parents,  reminds  me  of 
your  excellent  and  amiable  mother,  whom  I  claim  as  an  old 
friend.  Let  us  go  to  her  assistance.  I  trust  that  she's  not  hurt." 

And  the  captain  of  partisans  turned  and  proceeded  toward 
the  carriage,  accompanied  by  the  others. 

"  I  think  not ;  I  hope  not,"  answered  the  youth  anxiously, 
while  hurrying  forward  ahead  of  the  rest,  his  stride  increasing 
to  a  bound  and  run,  as  he  advanced.  The  eyes  of  Porgy  fol 
lowed  him. 

"  A  fine,  vigorous  lad ;  well  made ;  looks  like  his  Bather  in 
form,  his  mother  in  face ;  bating  the  eyes,  which  are  not  blue 
and  which  look  far  less  amiable.  I  should  say  the  lad  was  a 
hold,  rash,  high-spirited  fellow. 


DELIVERANCE  137 

44  He's  all  that,  captain !  He'll  fight,  too,  like  the  devil 
Twa'n't  so  easy  to  keep  him  back  and  quiet ;  to  keep  him  from 
putting  his  head  up  as  a  mark ;  but  he'll  soon  I'arn,  with  proper, 
indication! —  It's  surprising  how  well  he  could  take  the  track 
and  keep  it/  The  work  was  to  keep  him  down ;  but  he  had 
sense  enough  to  see  how  'twas  needful !  We've  been  watching 
here — jest  covering  the  ground  with  our  beads,  for  a  good  hour, 
not  daring  to  stir  —  not  knowing  how  soon  we  should  hear  the 
crack  of  an  inimy's  rifle." 

"  How  many  of  these  rascals  were  there  ?"  demanded  Porgy. 
"We  have  one  of  them,  a  prisoner;  one  was  cut  down  by 
Sergeant  Millhouso ;  and  another  made  his  escape  into  the 
swamp,  half  a  mile  or  so  below.  That  accounts  for  three  of 
them." 

"  There  were  six  in  all,  at  first,  I  reckon ;  but  it's  not  so  cer 
tain  but  there  might  have  been  more.  Of  these  we  killed  one.1' 

"  There  are  then,  at  least,  two  yet  to  account  for.  They 
must  be  about  —  are  probably  not  far  oft*.  But  they  will  keep 
snug  and  quiet  for  awhile.  It's  hardly  likely  that  they  will 
attempt  anything  farther  at  present.  But  keep  your  rifles 
primed,  and  your  horses  at  hand.  We  must  not -let  ourselves 
be  surprised !" 

These  orders  were  given  more  in  detail  to  Lance  Frampton. 
He  and  Sergeant  Millhouse  made  themselves  busy,  and  took 
the  necessary  precautions.  Meanwhile,  Capt.  Porgy  proceeded 
toward  the  carriage,  having  considerately  delayed  his  own  and 
the  movements  of  Fordham,  in  that  direction,  by  saying : — 

"  A  moment  or  two,  Mr.  Fordham !  Let  the  young  man  re 
lease  his  mother  himself!" 

The  youth,  meanwhile,  had  sprung  with  proper  alacrity  to 
this  grateful  duty.  The  mother  and  son  embraced  with  mutual 
tears  and  thankfulness.  The  glad  widow  held  the  happy  boy 
apart  from  her,  gazed  fondly  in  his  face,  and  then,  even  where 
she  istood,  in  the  box  of  the  coachman,  sank  down  upon  her 
knees  in  silent  prayers  to  Heaven.  The  boy  instinctively  sank 
down  beside  her,  and  both  yielded  themselves,  in  the  sight  of 
Heaven,  to  frank  and  fervent  but  silent  prayer. 


138  WOODCRAFT 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

THE    SOLDIER    AND    THE    LADY 

THE  good  sense,  and  good  taste,  of  Captain  Porgy,  sufficed  to 
prevent  him  from  interrupting  such  a  scene.  He  stood  apart 
conferring  with  Fordham,  seeming  to  see  nothing  at  the  carriage; 
but  his  eye  took  in  all  the  sweet  picture  of  maternal  love  ;  of 
all  the  forms  of  love,  perhaps,  the  most  pure,  the  least  selfish, 
the  longest  lived  !  At  length,  the  voice  of  the  widow  was  heard 
calling  our  partisan. 

"  Captain  Porgy  —  will  you  not  suffer  me  to  thank  you  1" 

Our  captain,  as  we  know,  was  not  one  of  the  most  sprightly  of 
living  cavaliers.  Agility,  as  he  himself  freely  admitted,  formed 
no  part  of  his  physical  virtues ;  but  he  certainly  made  the  most 
astonishing  efforts,  at  this  summons,  to  appear  agile  ;  and  did 
succeed,  we  allow,  in  reaching  the  carriage  in  a  tolerably  short 
space  of  time,  and  without  appearing  too  greatly  breathed  from 
the  exertion.  As  he  drew  nigh,  the  widow,  supported  by  her 
son,  alighted  from  the  box,  and  extended  her  hand  to  the  grasp 
of  her  deliverer.  Conspicuous  on  each  of  her  wrists  was  a  dark 
ring,  the  mark  of  the  cords  with  which  she  had  been  tied  by  the 
ruffians. 

"How  much  ought  I  to  thank  you,  Captain  Porgy  —  how 
much  do  I  owe  you,  sir  !  See  from  what  indignities  you  have 
rescued  me  V 

"  Would  I  had  been  with  you  some  hours  sooner,  my  dear 
madam,"  cried  the  captain,  seizing  her  hand  and  carrying  it,  in 
courtly  fashion,  to  his  lips.  Those  were  days,  be  it  remembered, 
of  more  lavish  ceremonial  than  ours ;  and  the  act  was  held  one 
of  mere  grace,  rather  than  of  gallantry.  At  all  events,  it  seemed 
to  occasion  no  emotion  in  the  bosom  of  Mrs.  Evcleigh,  and  les 
sened,  in  no  degree  the  warmth  of  her  acknowledgments. 

"That  you  have  come  in  season  for  our  safety  —  to  relieve 


THE  SOLDIKL;  AXI>  THK  LADY.  139 

iny  dear  s«  ;;,  and  this  brave  man  to  whom  I  owe  so  much,  is 
quite  enough  to  make  me  thankful  to  God,  and  for  ever  grateful 
to  you !  Ah  !  sir.  I  have  passed  a  terrible  hour  and  more,  i 
How  I  bore  up  against  my  own  terrors,  thus  fettered,  and  una 
ble  to  act,  or  even  to  speak,  without  going  mad,  I  know  n<;(  ! 
But  all  is  over  now,  I  trust !  There  is  no  more  danger  V 

"I  hope  not  —  I  believe  not,  my  dear  Mrs.  Eveleigh  ;  an*:, 
now  that  it  is  over,  perhaps  I  ought  to  congratulate  you  on  what. 
has  taken  place.  It  has  had  its  good  along  with  its  evil.  It  II.-..M 
brought  out  the  manhood  in  your  brave  son,  and  shown  the  ad 
mirable  stuff  which  he  has  in  him  for  future  work.  Mr.  Ford- 
ham  has  given  me  a  glowing  account  of  his  conduit.  I  am 
really  sorry,  for  his  sake,  that  our  wars  are  ended.  I  should 
like  to  take  him  into  my  keep  as  my  ensign." 

The  tears  again  gathered  into  the  mother's  eyes,  while  the 
boys  cheeks  became  crimson.  Some  further  conversation  ensued 
between  the  widow  and  the  partisan  on  this  subject,  so  grateful 
to  the  mother,  until  the  lad  himself  interposed,  and  in  a  whisper, 
taking  her  hand,  said — 

"  No  more,  mother,  if  you  please  !  If  Captain  Porgy  knew 
all  that  I  had  done,  he  wouldn't  be  so  ready  to  praise  me,  I  as 
sure  yon." 

The  partisan  half  heard  the  words,  and  guessed  the  meaning 
of  the  rest;  and  rejoined  good  naturedly  and  sensibly  — 

"  Ah  !  my  dear  fellow,  you  are  conscious  of  some  mistakes, 
perhjlps ;  but  that  is  only  another  proof  in  your  favor.  A  fool 
is  never  aware  that  he  has  made  any  blunders  —  never!  To  be 
conscious  that  you  have  done  so,  is  the  first  proof  of  wisdom  — 
the  necessary  process  by  which  to  avoid  them  in  future.  You 
were  too  quick  and  rash ;  too  hasty ;  and  fancied  you  under 
stood  the  whole  game,  when  you  were  only  taking  the  first  les 
sons  in  it.  An  error,  doubtless ;  but  one,  my  dear  boy,  that 
seems  natural  to  our  climate ;  where  one  usually  dates  his  man 
hood  from  the  moment  when  he  instructs  his  father  in  what  way 
properly  to  break  his  eggs.  You  will  soon  get  over  all  your 
mortifications  of  this  description  —  too  soon,  perhaps." 

But  we  do  not  propose  to  report  the  whole  of  the  dialogue,  as 
it  took  place  between  the  parties;  —  a  dialogue,  such  as  can 
readily  be  conjectured  under  the  circumstances,  and  at  the  meet' 


110  WOODCRAFT. 

ing  of  old  friends,  after  such  a  long  interval  of  time,  occupied  by 
war  and  its  worst  vicissitudes.  Captain  Porgy,  himself,  not 
regardless  of  duty,  soon  brought  the  merely  amiable  in  theii 
conversation  to  a  close;  though  it  was,  evidently,  very  grateful 
to  him.  It  seemed  to  restore  him  at  once  to  the  social  sphere 
from  which  lie  had  so  long  been  an  exile.  He  thus  changed  the 
topic  — 

"  But  we  must  reserve  these  matters,  Mrs.  Eveleigh,  for  a 
moment  of  greater  leisure.  We  must  not  forget  our  duties  now. 
The  sun  wanes,  and  you  have  yet  to  find  your  way  home.  We 
have  accounted  for  all  these  outlaws,  but  two  ;  and  to  do  our 
work  thoroughly,  we  should  give  an  account  of  tlic.m.  Two 
have  been  slain  outright,  one  by  your  party,  and  another  by 
mine;  one  is  even  now  our  prisoner;  and  the  fourth  man  we 
have  seen  making  his  escape  into  the  swamp,  below,  where  we 
can  not  now  hope  to  hunt  him  up.  There  are  still  two  others, 
Koihewherc,  lurking  in  the  neighborhood,  of  whom  we  must 
ascertain  all  that  we  can  within  the  next  two  hours,  or  before 
dark." 

"  I  am  somewhat  bewildered,"  said  the  lady,  "  and  have  suf 
fered  so  much  from  the  sun  in  my  eyes,  and  the  cords  about  my 
arms,  that  I  may  have  allowed  things  to  pass  under  my  very 
sight  without  being  altogether  conscious  of  the  fact ;  but,  just 
before  the  last  skirmish  of  Mr.  Fordham  and  my  son,  there 
were  two  of  them  harbored  very  near  the  carriage ;  one  on  that 
side,"  pointing  to  the  right,  "  whom  I  could  not  see  after  h»  first 
proceeded  in  that  quarter;  while  the  other  was  hidden  among 
these  myrtles  just  in  front.  Now,  I've  never  seen  that  last  one 
leave  his  position." 

With  a  few  bounds,  as  he  heard  these  words,  Lance  Frampton 
was  at  the  indicated  spot.  He  stooped  —  then  cried  out  — 

"  He's  here,  sure  enough ;  stone-dead,  with  a  bullet  through 
his  head!" 

He  drew  the  body  out  of  the  bushes  as  he  spoke. 

"  That  was  your  bullet,  Master  Arthur,"  said  Fordham. 

"And  a  cJiance  bullet  too,"  replied  the  ingenuous  youth.  "1 
felt  so  much  ashamed  at  having  fired,  thinking  that  I  had  thrown 
the  shot  away ! — for  I  felt  that  I  had  taken  no  aim  at  all  !" 

"Ah  !"  said  Porgy,  "you  know  not  how  wonderfully  the  hand 


THE  SOLON-:!?  ,\.\n  THK  LKDY.  141 

Seconds  the  eye,  and  both  the  will,  when  there  is  no  time  left 
for  preparation.  The  best  shots  are  frequently  those  which  are 
taken  when  we  are  so  conscious  of  a  pilose,  that  we  are  wholly 
unconscious  of  an  aim.  If  the  will  is  right,  the  hand  and  eye 
obey,  as  implicitly  as  the  slave  of  an  Eastern  despot !" 

"I  remember  the  moment  that  you  shot,  rny  son!"  said  the 
fridow,  with  a  shudder  of  horror,  as  the  body  was  drawn  out  of 
the  bushes.  "  He  rose  out  of  that  very  clamp  of  grass  and 
myrtle  ;  swore,  and  shook  his  fist  at  me,  and  made  some  horri 
ble  threats.  It  was  because  I  had  called  out  to  warn  Mr.  Ford- 
ham,  whom  I  had  seen  approaching',  where  they  were  in  con 
cealment,  I  only  saw  Tordham  ;  but  I  concluded  you  were 
somewhere  with  him,  and  I  trembled  at  the  cunning  ambush 
which  they  had  set.  .Tt  was  all  over  in  a  moment.  It  seemed 
as  if  I  heard  the  outlaw  and  the  shot  all  in  the  very  instant 
when  I  was  speaking." 

"  No  doubt,"  answered  Porgy.  "  There's  now  only  one  for 
whom  we  can  not  account,  and  of  him  we  may  be  sure  of  this  — 
that  he  will  not  remain  long  in  a  neighborhood  the  climate  of 
which  has  been  so  unfriendly  to  the  health  of  his  people.  At  all 
events,  -Mrs.  •  Eveleigli,  it  would  be  only  looking  through  the 
haystack  for  the  cambric  needle,  to  attempt  to  hunt  him  up,  at 
this  late  hour,  and  on  the  edges  of  this  swamp  !  And  yet"- — 
looking  round  upon  the  dense  thickets  which  indicated  the 
swamp  fortresses  —  "poor  as  I  am,  I  would  give  the  last  hun 
dred  guineas  for  a  couple  of  good  Scotch  blood-hounds,  or  Span 
ish,  for  a  single  hour!  But  the  wish  is  idle.  There  are,  never 
theless,  some  things  within  our  power,  Mrs.  Eveleigli,  and  the 
first  is  to  get  you  homeward  with  all  despatch.  We  rnurt  use 
promptly  all  the  daylight  that  is  left  us :  and,  with  all  our 
efforts,  it  will  be  a  little  in  the  night  before  you  can  possibly  get 
home.  Still,  there  can  be  no  danger  UOAV  !  Neither  of  the  two 
rogues  whom  we  shall  leave  running,  will  be  so  hardy  as  to 
attempt  anything  new  in  this  quarter  ;  and  you  will  have  quite 
a  sufficient  escort  in  your  son  and  Mr.  Fordham.  They  have 
already  managed  successfully  a  force  of  six  assailants  ;  they  will 
have  no  difficulty  in  managing  a  couple.  But  even  these  two,  it 
is  likely,  do  not  hunt  together.  The  one  we  drove  into  the 
,  took  its  shelter  some  two  miles  belcw.  The  other 


142  WOODCRAFT. 

scoundrel,  as  last  reported,  had  his  perch  rather  above  than 
below.  Be  it  as  it  may,  you  must  push  011  for  home,  before 
night,  under  your  escort.  You  need  not  fear  these  ruffians,  who, 
even  if  they  had  nothing  to  apprehend  from  our  superior  force, 
bringing  up  the  wagon  and  the  rear  as  we  propose  to  do,  would 
never  attempt  your  carriage  now,  guarded  by  your  son  and 
Fordham.  Leave  me  to  secure  your  property,  and  guard  your 
negroes  home.  The  more  grateful  duty  would  be  to  guard 
yourself,  but  the  more  arduous  is  here.  Fordham  will  now  be 
on  his  guard  against  surprise ;  and,  to  render  you  quite  safe  and 
sure,  I  will  confide  a  few  pistols  to  some  of  your  most  courageous 
negroes — your  fellow  Sylvester,  for  one.  These  will  suffice. 
With  my  party  I  will  remain,  and  see  to  the  repair  and  reload 
ing  of  your  wagon,  the  horses  of  which,  I  perceive,  my  people 
have  already  recaptured.  It  shall  follow  you  as  soon  as  ready. 
But,  the  sooner  you  start  the  better.  You  have  hardly  an  hour 
of  sunlight  left,  and  the  rogue  sees  better  in  the  night  than  the 
honest  man,  as  the  owl  sees  better  than  the  chicken." 

The  widow  was  quite  sensible  of  this  good  advice,  and  pre 
pared  for  its  adoption.  Her  servants  rapidly  go*  her  carriage 
ready,  the  traces,  where  they  had  been  cut,  being  supplied  witn 
plough-lines.  The  appearance  of  his  own  negroes  assisting  in 
this  duty,  reminded  our  captain  of  the  active  agency  of  the  wid 
ow,  in  recovering  them  for  him  from  the  British  hulks  —  a  cir 
cumstance  of  which  she  had  entirely  foreborne  to  speak. 

"  I,  too,  have  my  thanks,  my  dear  Mrs.  Eveleigh,  since,  as  I 
learn,  but  for  your  keen  eye,  and  fearless  spirit,  my  negroes 
would  now  be  on  their  way  to  the  British  West  Indies.  But  I 
must  take  a  less  hurried  moment  for  making  my  acknowledg 
ments." 

"Don't  speak  of  it,  my  dear  captain;  I  did  only  as  a  neigh 
bor  should  have  done.  But,  of  course,  you  will  accompany  m\ 
people  to  my  house.  Your  own  will  scarcely  give  you  a  proper 
shelter  just  now." 

"No,  thank  you  a  thousand  times,  but  I  have  some  of  my  old 
^nd  young  soldiers  with  me " 

;<  I  have  room  for  all,"  said  the  hospitable  widow. 

"  I  thank  you  again  ;  but  I  must  see  to  these  negroes  ;  and — '* 

The  captain  paused.     Tl  e  widow  fam-:e;l   there  was  some  Ki 


THE    SOLftlEU    ANTJ)    Til!:    LADY.  143 

tie  embarrassment  in  his  manner.  She  fancied  there  was  a  slight 
(lushing  through  all  the  bronze  on  his  cheeks.  Mrs.  Eveleigb 
was  a  woman  of  good  sense  and  good  feeling.  Such  a  person 
always  receives  an  apology  —  for  what  it  is  worth  ;  at  least  she 
never  disputes  it,  driving  the  apologist  to  the  wall,  and  exposing 
to  himself  the  poverty  of  his  excuses.  She  Lchaved,  according 
ly,  in  the  right  manner.  She  foreltore  annoying  him,  the  m<>- 
nent  she  discovered  him  resolved  to  excuse  himself.  She  took 
for  granted  that  he  had  his  reasons,  proper  enough  for  himself, 
which  it  might  not  be  proper  for  him  to  unfold.  This  was 
enough. 

"As  you  please,  captain.  Remember,  from  this  moment,  1 
take  for  granted  that  you  will  feel  yourself  always  welcome,  and 
at  home,  at  my  house.  Your  old  and  young  soldiers  will  share 
this  welcome  —  all  whom  you  command.  Pray  believe,  in  addi 
tion,  that  I  shall  desire  to  see  you  at  an  early  moment.  I  have 
much  to  hear  from  you,  and  something  to  communicate.  Why 
not  ride  over  and  dine  with  me  to-morrow,  or  the  day  after,  and 
brincr  your  friends  with  you?" 

"  And  very  much  delighted,  indeed,  to  do  so,  Mrs.  Eveleigb, 
if  it  be  possible.  At  all  events,  I  shall  let  you  know  in  due  sea 
son,  if  I  shall  not  be  able  to  come  to-moiiow.  Believe  me,  T 
bave  not  been  living  so  long  in  camp  as  to  have  quite  lost  my 
relish  for  a  good  dinner." 

"  Visit  her  now,"  quoth  Porgy,  turning  away  to. see  after  the 
coach  and  wagon,  "with  such  a  beard  —  mixed  grey  and  brown, 
salt  and  pepper  —  and  in  this  travelling  gear — a  break  under 
tv?  arm,  a  rent  in " 

And  be  paused  as  if  at  some  unmentionable  difficulty — then 
proceeded — 

"  No  !  no  !  One  puts  on  his  best  favors  and  front,  when  ho 
goes  to  court,  even  in  a  republic.  This  grizzlly  beard  !" — 

Tlere  he  stroked  his  chin  reproachfully  —  literally  took  himself 
by  the  beard  —  and  added — - 

"Who  the  devil  could  have  anticipated  such  an  adventure  !  - 
That  1  should  have  put  away  my  best  things  in  my  valise  !" 

He  was  brought  to  think  of  other  matters  by  the  approach  of 
his  lieutenant.  Meanwhile,  all  were  busy.  To  gather  the  n-- 
groes  and  horses  together,  repair  the  harness,  and  set  the  coacb 


144  WOODCRAFT. 

man  once  more  upon  his  box,  was  a  task  of  no  great  labor  with 
So  many  hands.  Fortunately,  the.  outlaws  had  left  behind  them 
an  abundance  of  plough-line,  and  there  was  a  bolt  of  rope  in  the 
wagon.  The  harness  was  quickly  put  in  strong  travelling  order, 
and  all  ready  for  a  start  in  a  much  shorter  period  of  time  than 
nad  been  anticipated.  The  widow,  accompanied  by  her  son, 
Fordham  and  the  servant  girl,  bade  Porgy  and  his  followers  ;i 
friendly,  farewell ;  repeating  her  thanks  to  all,  and  giving  sepa 
rate  and  warm  invitations  to  each  to  visit  her;  which  all  parties 
promised.  When  they  were  fairly  out  of  sight  of  the  troopers, 
she  cnlle  1  tbe  overseer  to  the  side  of  the  coach. 

"  Mr.  Fordham,  have  you  been  lately  to  Captain  Porgy's 
place  ?" 

"  Not  later  than  a  month  ago,  ma'am,  or  thereabouts.  I  pass 
it  constantly,  you  know." 

"  It  is  all  destitute,  I  think ;  almost  in  ruins  ?" 

"  The  house  is  good,  ma'am,  wants  a  little  repairing ;  but 
there's  not  a  stick  of  fence,  and " 

"Ah  !  that's  not  what  I  mean  !  Do  you  suppose  he  has  any 
provisions  there1?" 

"  Not.  the  feather  of  a  chicken,  ma'am  —  not  the  hair  of  a  hog  ! 
How  should  he  ?  The  niggers  eat  him  out  before  tbe  tories 
took  'em  off.  They  left  nothing.  There  may  be  a  few  cattle 
in  the  swamps,  and  perhaps  hogs  ;  but  it's  worth  more  than  they'd 
bring  to  look  'em  up." 

"  How  then  is  bs  to  feed  all  these  people  ?" 

"  God  knows,  ma'am  ;  it's  a  wonder  to  me." 

"  Mr.  Fordham.  we  must  take  care  of  him  and  them  for  the 
present.  Men  who  have  so  long  served,  and  helped  to  save,  the 
country,  and  who  have  so  lately  served  and  saved  us,  must  net 
be  suffered  to  want.  I'll  tell  you  what  you  must  do." 

"  To  be  sure,  ma'am." 

"  When  we  reach  his  place,  we  shall  be  so  nigh  our  own  thai 
there  can  scarce  be  any  further  danger  from  these  outlaws. 
You  will,  accordingly,  stop  at  Captain  Porgy's,  and  stop  the 
wagon  there  also,  when  it  arrives.  Knock  open  the  sugar  bar 
rel,  and  leave  him  a  fourth  of  it ;  give  him  a  like  proportion  out 
of  the  coffee  sack.  There  are,  I  think,  four  boxes  of  candles, 
leave  him  one.  Put,  out  for  him,  also,  a  dozen  of  the  blankets. 


JUDICIAL    DIGNITY   IX   TfliC    FOUEST.  141) 

and  if  you  can  think  of  any  other  matters,  that  may  be  useful 
fro:n  among  our  stores,  leave  him  a  like  supply.  When  T  get 
home,  I  will  send  him  some  meal  and  bacon.  Oh !  don't  forget 
to  leave  him  one  of  the  jugs  of  Jamaica.  These  soldiers  are  all 
fond  of  spirits,  you  know." 

Porgy  would  have  retorted  —  How  else  should  they  have 
spirit  ? 

The  plethoric  old  soldier  little  dreamed,  at  that  moment,  what 
the  chanties  of  the  amiable  widow  had  decreed  for  his  creature 
comfort.  As  little  did  she  conjecture  the  sort  of  business  which, 
at  the  same  time,  occupied  his  hands.  Let  us  return  to  him 
suul  note  the  progress  of  events. 


CHAPTER   XXIV, 

JUDICIAL    DIGNITY    IN    THE    FOREST. 

OUR  captain  of  partisans  would  have  gladly  undertaken  the 
escort  of  the  widow,  had  circumstances  —  in  Avhich  the  condition 
of  his  travelling  costume  must  be  included — allowed.  But  he 
felt,  as  leader  of  the  party,  so  suddenly  engaged  in  such  an 
adventure  as  that  which  followed  his  encounter  with  the  outlaws, 
that  a  serious  further  duty  had  devolved  upon  him  ;  and,  how 
ever  selfish  or  luxurious  his  character  might  be,  it  was  seldom 
that  he  permitted  his  tastes,  or  his  love  of  ease  and  enjoyment, 
to  thwart  the  performances  to  which  he  was  professionally  bound. 
He  was  a  soldier,  not  less  than  a  bon  vivant  and  gentleman 
True,  he  had  been  regularly  dismissed  from  duty.  He  was  no 
longer  an  officer  in  command.  There  was  no  longer  an  army 
But  he  had  character.  He  was  sure  of  his  own  honesty.  HP 
felt,  and  understood,  the  lawlessness  which  prevailed  throughout 
the  country ;  and,  in  the  deficiency  of  courts  and  sheriffs,  bo 
resolved  that  he  was  still  a  captain  of  militia,  and  that  each 
militia  officer  was,  ad  interim,  in  the  commission  of  the  peace. 
f~  The  old  idea  of  regulation  was  as  much  the  fashion  through 
out  the  country  as  ever.  It  was  now  as  much  the  necessity  of 


146  \Vi»()DCRAFT. 

the  region,  as  it  Lad  been  in  the  early  stages  of  society  when 
the  practice  originated.  The  woods  were  filled  with  t  utlawi 
and  offenders  1  and,  to  await  the  slow  processes  of  the  courts  of 
law,  at  such  a  period,  and  in  a  country  so  sparsely  settled,  wa« 
'  to  sacrifice  all  the  securities  of  the  better  sort  of  people.  So 
ciety,  in  such  cases,  always  resorts  to  the  necessary  means  foi 
sustaining  law  ;  and  the  morals  of  law  always  will,  and  should, 
sustain  what  are  the  obvious  necessities  of  society.  In  this  you 
have  the  full  justification  of  the  code  of  regulation  ;  a  code 
which  is,  no  doubt,  sometimes  subject  to  abuse,  as  is  the  case 
with  law  itself,  but  which  is  rarely  allowed  to  exist  in  practice  — 
among  people  of  Anglo-Norman  origin  —  a  day  longer  than  is 
absolutely  essential  to  the  common  weal.  Captain  Porgy  sim 
ply  fulfilled  the  conditions  of  this  code,  when  lie  resolved  on 
subjecting  the  captive  outlaw  to  the  tender  mercies  of  an  extem 
pore  court  of  justice,  all  the  members  of  which  had  been  trained 
in  a  severe  military  school,  the  rules  of  which  recognised  no 
limits  to  its  own  powers,  and  usually  threw  upon  the  accused 
tbo  burden  of  proof,  in  establishing  his  own  innocence. 

The  wagon  of  Mrs.  Eveleigh,  reloaded,  and  despatched  upon 
its  way,  under  an  escort  composed  wholly  of  the  slaves  of  the 
widow  —  several  of  whom,  including  John  Sylvester,  had  been 
armed  with  the  view  to  its  defence,  should  either  of  the  two 
outlaws  in  the  woods  be  prepared  and  in  the  humor  to  attempt 
further  mischief,  which  was  held  to  be  scarcely  possible  —  our 
captain  established  himself  under  a  goodly  oak,  planted  himself 
comfortably  upon  a  heap  of  dry  leaves  at  its  roots,  and  instructed 
Sergeant  Millhouse  to  bring  the  offending  outlaw  before  him. 

This  order  was  promptly  obeyed.  His  coat  off,  his  arms 
bound  behind  him,  the  outlaw,  Norris,  was  pushed  forward  by 
Millhouse,  his  one  hand  diligently  applying  the  point  of  his 
sword  to  the  fellow's  haunches,  whenever  he  halted  or  seemed 
iinnecessarily  reluctant.  Norris  was  sullen  and  savage  both, 
looked  the  tiger,  and  spoke  as  snappishly  as  a  lean  cur  over  a 
beggarly  bone,  with  two  or  three  other  companion  curs,  as  lean 
as  himself,  watching,  close  at  hand,  for  the  opportunity  to  dart 
in  and  boar  ;;v  ay  the  prize.  The  fellow's  case  was  desperate, 
and  he  knew  it !  He  had  been  taken  flagrante  delicto  ;  and  he 
bad  sufficient  experience  of  law,  when  administered  by  a  mili- 


JUDICIAL   DIGNITY   IN   THE   FOREST.  141 

tary  man,  to'  know  that  it  was  usually  a  .natter  singularly  de 
cisive  and  summary  in  all  its  processes.  He  was  a  Lardy  ruffian  ; 
and,  with  a  gloomy  sense  of  the  danger  that  awaited  him,  his 
habitual  mood  now  assumed  the  appearance  of  insolence  and 
audacity. 

But  he  was  in  the  hands  of  those  who  had  been  accustomed 
to  deal  with  all  sorts  of  offenders.  Porgy  awaited  his  approach 
with  rare  patience  of  demeanor.  His  pistols,  taken  from  his 
holsters,  lay  before  him.  His  sword,  unbelted  but  sheathed 
crossed  his  lap..  We  are  constrained  to  state  the  further  fact, 
that  our  captain  of  partisans,  in  order  to  the  more  easy  adminis 
tration  of  justice,  had  unbuttoned  coat,  vest,  and  small-clothes,  as 
far  as  he  possibly  could  without  actually  discarding  them ;  and 
his  appearance  was,  accordingly,  significant  of  a  singular  loose 
ness  of  habit,  which,  we  are  pleased  to  say,  did  not  by  any 
means  represent  his  usual  moral  character.  Let  us  add,  also, 
that  the  act  which  gave  him  this  peculiar  laxity  in  dress,  was 
studiously  forborne  until  the  carriage  of  the  fair  widow  was 
quite  ou'j  of  sight.  Captain  Porgy  was  one  of  that  good  old 
school,  which,  where  ladies  and  gentlemen  were  concerned,  was 
always  carefully  tender  of  the  proprieties.  The  school  is  some 
what  out  of  fashion  now,  and  is  supposed  to  need  its  apologies ; 
but  we  have  not  space  enough  for  them  in  this  place. 

Lance  Frampton  stood  a  little  on  one  side  of  the  judge ;  but 
the  latter,  after  the  prisoner  had  been  brought  up,  bade  him  be 
seated  as  one  of  the  court.  Porgy  was  heedful  of  all  details. 

"  You,  sergeant,"  said  he  to  Millhouse,  "  acting  as  sheriff,  will 
be  required  to  stand.  A  certain  degree  of  vigilance  is  necessary 
always,  even  when  the  court  feels  itself  perfectly  secure.  En 
sign,"  to  Lance,  "  take  your  seat  more  to  the  left ;  let  the  tree 
be  a  little  between  us  —  where  you  are  now,  we  might  both  be 
ranged  with  a  single  rifle-shot ;  a  fact  which  might  tempt  the 
rascal,  yet  in  the  woods,  to  let  drive  at  us." 

As  this  was  spoken,  the  prisoner  began  to  whistle.  The 
sounds  were  suddenly  silenced  by  a  smart  blow  from  the  stump 
f  Sergeant  Millhouse's  game  hand,  who  well  understood  the 
object  of  the  whistle. 

"  Vvrait  with  your  music  till  it's  called  for  my  lark,"  quoth 
the  vigilant  sergeant. 


148  WOODCRAFT. 

The  ruffian  twitched  violently  at  the  cords  l>y  which  his 
wrists  were  fastened,  evidently  desirous  of  resenting  the  indig 
nity  ;  and,  failing  in  this,  he  plunged  his  head  incontinently  into 
the  breast  of  the  assailant,  with  bull-like  ferocity.  He  was  not 
tall  enough  to  address  his  battering-ram  at  the  face  of  the  ser 
geant,  or  he  might  have  done  mischief  to  the  mazzard  of  the 
veteran.  The  latter  was  taken  by  surprise,  an  1  almost  lost  his 
feet,  as  well  as  his  breath,  for  a  moment ;  but  his  huge  and  well 
buttressed  form  was  staggered  only,  not  overthrown  ;  and,  recov 
ering  himself,  he  dropped  his  sword,  and  planted  a  settler  in  the 
nostrils  of  the  outlaw,  which  laid  him  out  like  a  log,  the  blood 
spurting,  in  a  big  stream,  from  the  proboscis  of  the  victim. 

"  Well  delivered,"  quoth  Porgy  ;  "  he  will  hardly  try  his  horns 
upon  you  a  second  time,  Mr.  Sheriff.  Help  him  to  rise,  boys." 
This  was  said  to  the  negroes  who  hung  around,  quite  delighted 
with  the  solemnity  of  the  scene,  and  the  action  which  had  begun 
with  so  much  spirit,  and  which  promised  to  be  so  enlivening. 
Pomp,  the  fiddler,  absolutely  lost  his  propriety  so  far  as  to  wave 
his  fiddle  aloft,  while  executing  a  sort  of  wild-colt  movement 
upon  his  pins  —  a  proceeding  which  was  quickly  arrested  by  an 
order  of  his  master,  to  "  box  that  fellow  up  till  he's  wanted." 
Pomp  sank  back  demurely  enough,  and  took  especial  care, 
during  the  rest  of  the  scene,  to  attract  no  especial  attention  to 
himself:  Tom,  the  cook,  giving  him  first  a  gentle  admonition,  by 
a  sharp  sudden  gripe  about  his  weasand.  This  little  episode 
occupied  but  a  few  moments.  The  outlaw  Norris,  half-stunned, 
was  raised  once  more  to  his  feet,  the  blood  still  dripping  from  his 
nostrils.  Captain  Porgy  surveyed  him  very  much  as  the  Bow- 
street  magistrate  is  said  to  examine  the  visages  of  old  offenders, 
or  those  whom  he  thinks  so ;  but  he  did  not  fall  into  the  usual 
habit  of  that  officer,  of  finding  the  offender  always  ill-looking. 
On  the  contrary,  he  had  a  different  theory  in  such  matters. 
[  "  But  that  you  have  spoiled  his  nose  for  a  time,"  quoth  Porgy, 
"  the  offender  would  be  a  good-looking  fellow  —  even  handsome, 
perhaps,  stripped  of  his  brush,  and  with  a  clean  shirt  on.  Is  it 
not  curious  that  these  rogues  should  be  so  commonly  handsome  I 
I  don't  remember  one  whom  we  have  had  to  hang,  who  wouldn't 
be  accounted  quite  a  pretty  fellow  among  the  women  !  There 
was  that  fellow,  Bryce,  whom  we  left  swinging  at  Four  Holes:  In1. 


JUDICIAL    DKiXITV    IN    Till-:    FOREST.  149 

was  a  fine-looking  fellow,  Lance.  And  old  Ecliars,  the  Dutch 
man,  whom  we  dressed  in  tar  and  feathers  at  Monk's  Corner,  for 
stealing  cattle,  he  was  a  beauty,  though  nearly  sixty  years  of 
age.  You  see,  my  friend,  that  beauty  is  a  snare.  It  makes 
many  a  poor  fellow  a  rogue.  I  suppose,  because  it  first  makes 
him  a  fool.  It  turns  his  head ;  and  when  the  head's  turned,  a 
fellow  ceases  to  be  a  man,  and  goes  to  the  devil  like  a  beast. 
It  is  the  head  that  keeps  a  man  in  position.  Let  him  lose  that 
balance,  and  he  staggers,  from  right  to  left,  with  a  sort  of  moral 
drunkenness.  Talking  of  drunkenness,  reminds  me  that  a  good 
sup  of  Jamaica  would  not  be  amiss  after  that  little  run  we  had, 
Sergeant  Millhouse  ;  but" — with  a  sigh  —  "we  must  now  think 
of  other  matters  !  A  handsome  rascal,  indeed  !  but" — addres 
sing  the  prisoner  abruptly  — "  well,  my  good  fellow,  how  do  you 
call  yourself?" 

Let  us  leave  this  examination  for  a  moment,  in  order  that  all 
the  parties  to  the  scene  should  be  properly  shown  up,  each  in 
his  exact  position,  to  the  eye  of  the  reader.  Thus  far,  the  whole 
progress  of  the  affair  had  been  witnessed,  though  imperfectly, 
at  the  distance  of  two  or  three  hundred  yards,  more  or  less,  by 
the  out-lying  squatter,  Bostwick.  Perfectly  familiar  with  the 
ground  and  region,  he  had  regidated  his  own  course  and  move 
ments  entirely  by  those  of  the  pany  which  he  no  longer  dared 
to  assail.  By  crawling  and  creeping,  crouching  and  winding  — 
by  stealthy  movements,  like  those  of  the  wild-cat  and  fox  —  by 
a  sinuous  progress  like  that  of  the  serpent — -he  had  wound  his 
way  from  point  to  point,  wherever  he  fancied  that  a  good  place 
could  be  had  for  surveying  the  proceedings  of  his  enemies.  In 
this  progress  he  omitted  no  precaution,  and  none  suspected  how 
closely  they  were  watched.  It  was  the  conviction  of  Porgy  and 
the  rest  that  the  outlaws  were  completely  dispersed ;  and  that, 
terrified  by  the  execution  done  among  them  —  the  death  of  no 
less  than  three  of  their  number,  and  the  captivity  of  a  fourth  — 
the  two,  escaping,  had  fled  incontinently  from  the  dangerous 
neighborhood. 

But  Bostwick  had  several  reasons  for  lingering  upon  the 
ground,  even  after  the  chances  of  profit  had  wholly  disappeared. 
He  had  a  fellow-feeling  for  his  captive  comrade  ;  and,  as  he  had 
frequently  done  before,  was  prepared  to  follow  the  footsteps  of 


150  WOODCRAFT. 

his  captors,  in  eager  expectation  of  the  moment  when  their  vigi 
lance  would  so  relax  as  to  enable  him  to  effect  his  rescue,  even 
at  some  hazard  to  himself.  He  was  thus  far  faithful  to  the 
bond  of  brotherhood,  which  is  said  to  be  sacred  even  among 
thieves.  He  was  prepared,  as  we  shall  see,  for  other  necessi 
ties.  He  was  not  long  permitted  to  remain  in  doubt  as  to  the, 
purposes  of  Captain  Porgy  and  his  associates  ;  these,  indeed,  he 
readily  divined.  He  naturally  conjectured  that  the  .policy  of 
the  captors  would  prompt  them  to  ascertain  from  the  prisoner 
all- the  facts  of  the  expedition  —  the  parties  by  whom  it  was  set 
on  foot  —  the  persons  actually  engaged  in  it,  and  the  motives  by 
which  it  was  prompted.  All  the  proceedings,  as  already  de 
scribed,  confirmed  him  in  his  conjectures ;  and  his  interest  and 
anxiety  continued  to  increase,  as  he  beheld  the  deliberation  with 
which  the  party  commenced  the  affair.  He  had  got  as  near  to 
the  spot  as  he  well  dared,  from  that  quarter  of  the  woods  which 
afforded  him  concealment,  relying  not  less  on  the  depth  of  cover 
which  he  occupied  than  upon  the  facility  with  which,  in  the 
event  of  danger,  he  could  glide  unseen  into  the  recesses  of  the 
adjacent  swamp. 

Here  he  beheld  the  progress  of  affairs  ;  saw  Porgy  let  himself 
down  deliberately  at  the  base  of  the  oak ;  beheld  the  prisoner 
brought  up  ;  heard  the  beginning  of  his  whistle,  and  saw  the 
summary  manner  in  which  he  had  been  silenced  by  the  game- 
hand  of  Sergeant  Millhouse.  The  fierce  assault  of  Norris,  by 
which  he  had  resented  the  blow,  and  the  severe  punishment 
which  he  had  received  in  consequence,  added  to  his  excitement ; 
and,  but  for  the  madness  of  such  an  act,  he  would  have  darted 
out  to  the  succor  of  his  comrade.  He  forebore  ;  but  it  was  with 
a  feverish  vexation,  which  kept  him  singularly  fidgetty  and 
restless.  Not  a  syllable  could  he  distinguish  of  what  was  said 
by  either  of  the  parties  ;  but  he  could  very  well  conjecture  what 
was  likely  to  be  said.  His  disquiet  greatly  increased  in  conse 
quence  of  his  inability  to  hear.  His  interest  was  by  no  menus 
an  unselfish  one.  He  knew  that  Norris  was  a  stubborn  scoun 
drel,  hardened  in  sin.  callous  by  repeated  infamies ;  and  one 
whom  frequent  hair-breadth  escapes  had  rendered  tenacious  of 
his  secret,  and  more  than  commonly  confident  of  his  goo!  luck 
in  escape.  But  the  squatter  dreaded  still,  lest  temptation  and 


JUDICIAL   DIGNITY   IN   THE    FOREST.  151 

/ear  combined  should  finally  get  the  better  of  his  hardihood,  and 
prompt  those  revelations  which  must  be  fatal  to  his  own  safety. 
Could  he  have  heard  the  proceedings,  he  would  have  been  more 
at  ease,  even  though  these  should  only  tend  to  confirm  his  ap 
prehensions. 

With  a  mood  that  became  momently  more  and  more  despe 
rate  from  the  very  continuance  of  his  doubts,  Bostwick  began, 
at  length,  to  finger  the  lock  of  his  rifle,  scarcely  conscious  that 
he  Avas  doing  so.  He  could  scarcely  resist  the  impulse  Avhich 
prompted  him  to  send  a  bullet  through  the  provoking  abdoiuen 
of  the  captain  of  partisans,  now  rendered  doubly  offensive  to  the 
eye  by  the  removal  of  the  usual  restraints  of  button,  belt  and 
buckle.  At  another  moment  his  thought  would  be  to  single  out, 
RS  a  victim,  the  tall,  erect,  and  raw-boned  figure  of  the  sergeant, 
acting  as  sheriff  in  the  proceedings.  Could  he  have  got  the 
three  —  th%  captain,  ensign,  and  sergeant  —  in  a  range,  or  even 
two  of  them,  he  had  never  resisted  the  temptation.  He  had, 
under  these  exciting  tendencies,  continued  to  crawl  and  creep 
up  within  a  hundred  and  thirty  yards  of  the  scene  of  trial,  and 
at  such  a  distance,  with  a  rest,  he  had  the  most  perfect  faith  in 
his  own  skill  to  make  his  mark,  and  the  capacity  of  his  rifle  to 
speed  the  bullet  home. 

The  disposition  grew  in  his  mind  to  adopt  some  such  despe 
rate  course  of  action.  He  looked  about  him,  accordingly,  with 
regard  to  the  means  left  him  for  escape,  should  he  resolve  to 
tire.  This  examination  of  the  spot  which  he  occupied,  led  him 
instantly  to  change  it  —  a  proceeding  which  involved,  necessa 
rily,  some  little  loss  of  time.  But  he  moved  briskly,  as  well  as 
stealthily,  and  at  length  found  himself  in  a  more  satisfactory 
place  of  concealment  and  ambush,  upon  the  edge  of  the  swamp, 
where  he  was  sheltered  partly  by  the  dense  thicket  of  gall- 
bushes,  of  which  we  have  already  given  some  idea.  Here,  at 
his  back,  were  all  the  facilities  for  flight,  by  a  sinuous  progress, 
and  under  cover  all  the  way.  Here  ran  a  mighty  cypress,  half- 
buried  in  water,  hidden  from  view  by  a  wilderness  of  bushes, 
growing  upon  the  tussocky  ridge  on  the  edge  of  which  it  had 
fallen.  Farther  on,  a  clump  of  bays,  or  dwarf-laurel,  interposed 
to  receive  him,  Beyond  was  a  tract  of  the  gall  and  hurrah- 
bushes,  matted  by  vines,  which  seemed  to  enmesh  their  entire 


152  WOODCRAFT. 

tops;  beyond,  the  places  of  refuge  spread  away  interminably 
forming,  even  in  daylight,  an  almost  perfect  shelter ;  but  at 
nightfall,  a  questionless  place  of  security.  The  region,  which 
was  called  "  Bear  Castle"  by  the  neighborhood,  was  one  which 
he  well  knew.  It  yielded  him,  comparatively  speaking,  a  per 
fectly  safe  mode  of  retreat  from  the  point  where  he  established 
himself,  in  the  event  of  any  necessity  occurring  for  sudden 
flight.  Here  he  found  himself  in  a  place  altogether  to  his  li 
king  ;  one  in  which  he  might  contrive  to  obtain  a  knowledge  of 
what  was  going  on  among  the  partisans ;  overlook  their  pro 
ceedings,  and  interpose,  if  necessary,  at  the  proper  moment ; 
yet  one  which  he  could  leave  at  a  short  notice,  and  without 
embarrassment,  for  the  deeper  recesses  of  the  swamp  thicket. 

"  And  now,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  Dick  Norris,  it's  jist  as  hell 
and  you  chooses !  Ef  you're  the  man  to  hold  out,  I'm  the  man 
to  help  you !  You've  been  in  as  tight  a  fix  afore  no^,  and  you 
know  that  I  stuck  by  you  then !  Set  your  teeth  hard,  Dick, 
and  I  reckon  we  can  scrape  you  through !" 

This  was  all  said  in  a  whisper,  though  as  if  the  person  spoken 
to  could  hear.  Bostwick  now  appeared  more  at  his  ease,  was 
cooler  and  more  composed ;  and,  satisfied  to  have  gained  the 
required  place  of  watch  and  safety,  not  much  over  a  hundred 
yards  from  the  place  of  trial,  rirle  in  grasp,  and  couleau  de 
ckasse  loosened  in  his  belt,  crouching  beside  a  pine  which  grew 
upon  a  bank  somewhat  raised  above  the  general  level,  before 
wliicli  stretched  a  little  forest  of  gall-bushes  and  young  myrtle, 
he  peered  keenly  through  the  vistas  of  the  wood,  not  losing  a 
single  movement  among  those  he  watched,  while  his  comrade 
was  undergoing  "  The  Question." 


RAPID    PROCESSES    OK    EXTEMPOIIE    LAW. 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

RAPID    PROCESSES    OF    EXTEMPORE    LAW. 

"  THE  Question,"  verily,  in  the  sense  usually  given  to  the 
phrase  in  the  times  —  which  the  silly  world  usually  calls,  "  good 
old  times," — when  state  tyranny,  and  the  Spanish  Inquisition 
were  in  full  blast, —  to  use  a  vulgar  idiom,  but  a  very  appro 
priate  figure  —  did  the  trial  of  Norris,  by  our  military  court, 
promise  in  reality  to  be.  Bostwick  well  knew  the  usual  practice 
on  all  such  occasions.  He  had  some  personal  experience  of 
"  the  question"  himself.  He  had,  as  we  had  gathered  from  his 
words,  been  more  than  once  instrumental  in  rescuing  his  com 
rade  from  its  operation.  He  did  by  no  means  despair,  accord 
ingly  ;  but  kept  himself  in  reserve  for  the  chapter  of  accidents. 

Our  captain  of  partisans  very  well  understood  that  one  of  the 
outlaws  might  be  lurking  about,  and  looking  on ;  but  he  little 
dreamed  how  nigh,  or  with  what  purposes  in  his  mind.  He  was 
proceeding  with  singular  calmness  in  the  trial,  but  with  a  solem 
nity  of  manner  fully  proper  to  the  enormous  offence  of  the  pris 
oner.  We  have  heard  the  inquiry  with  which  he  commenced 
the  examination  of  Norrfs.  It  met  with  no  answer.  The  fellow 
sullenly  stood  up,  though  with  half-shut  eyes,  through  which 
the  latent  ferocity  could  be  seen  still  to  flash  out  brightly,  and 
showing  that  the  devil  was  by  no  means  subdued,  though  bruised 
sorely,  and  in  tight  bonds. 

"  Hark  ye,  fellow,"  said  Porgy,  repeating  the  question,  "  do 
you  hear  1 — by  what  name  are  you  known  among  your  kindred  1 
—  who  are  you?  —  and  what  has  prompted  you  to  the  commis 
sion  of  this  outlawry?  Be  civi]  now — your  safety  depends 
somewhat  upon  your  fully  unburthening  your  conscience  of  all 
its  secrets.  Give  an  account  of  yourself  to  the  court." 

"Court!  I  don't  see  any  court!"  responded  the  prisoner, 
with  a  mixed  air  of  contempt  and  defiance. 

"Ah!  you  don't,  eh!  Well,  but  what  if  it  makes  youjeel 
7* 


154  WOODCRAFT. 

it  ?  It  strikes  me  there's  something  in  that  !  Think  better  of 
it,  my  poor  fellow,  and  answer  the  court  with  a  decent  sense  of 
its  power,  if  not  of  its  authority." 

"  I'll  answer  when  it  suits  me !  Time  enough,  when  I'm 
r«ally  before  a  court.  You're  none,  I  reckon.  You're  no  more 
a  jedge  than  I  am." 

"I'm  sorry  you  think  so,*  my  good  fellow,"  said  Porgy, 
mildly  :  "  for  your  own  sake,  you'd  better  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  we  are  a  court,  having  the  power  of  life  and  deatli ;  and 
prepare  your  defence  accordingly.  We  give  you  a  fair  chance 
for  your  life.  Tell  the  truth,  the  whole  truth,  and  nothing  but 
the  truth,  and  you  don't  know  what  good  it  will  do  you  —  if  not 
in  this  world,  at  all  events  in  the  next.  Confess  who  sejt  you  on 
this  expedition  —  who  were  your  associates  —  where  do  they 
harbor — what  are  the  names  of  those  who  survive?  Turn 
state's  evidence  as  fast  as  you  can,  if  you  would  be  treated  with 
indulgence." 

"  I  don't  see  what  you  can  do  with  me,  but  carry  me  to  prison. 
There's  no  army  !  Don't  I  know  that  the  army  is  broken  up, 
and  all  the  British  gone.  And  there's  no  courts  yd ;  and  if 
there  was  courts,  you,  I  reckon,  aint  no  Jcdge,  and  these  nig 
gers  aint  no  jury !  You  kin  only  carry  me  to  jail.  That's  the 
worst  that  you  kin  do ;  and  I  ain't  afeered  of  any  jail  I  ever 
seed  yit!" 

And  he  chuckled,  with  the  feeling  of  one  who  had  been  par 
ticularly  smart,  if  not  severe.  • 

"  You  grieve  me,  my  interesting  fellow,  by  your  imperfect 
knowledge  of  the  law !  I  am,  at  this  moment,  both  judge  and 
jury  ;  and  my  excellent  friend,  on  the  right,  is  my  sheriff,'  and 
the  executioner  of  my  decrees  !  These  sons  of  Ethiopia  are  all 
good  men  and  true,  having  an  abiding  sense  of  authority  and 
justice.  You  will  find  them  fully  capable  of  understanding  all 
Uie  facts  in  your  case ;  and  I  feel  myself  equally  able  to  ex 
pound  to  them  the  law  upon  it.  As  for  the  army,  my  friend, 
that  is  never  broken  up,  so  long  as  there  are  criminals,  like  your 
self,  to  be  broken  in.  The  good  citizens  of  a  country  must 
always  constitute  a  standing  army  for  the  purposes  of  public 
justice  and  public  security.  Answer,  therefore,  as  civilly  and 
fully  as  possible,  the  questions  I  shall  put  to  you,  if  you  would 


RAPID   PROCESSES   OF    EXTEMPORE   LAW.  I5o 

secure  for  yourself  the  least  indulgence.     What  may  be  yonr 
name  ?" 

"  I  sha'n't  tell  you  !"  was  the  insolent  reply, 

"  Well,  perhaps  that  is  not  necessary.  It  is  not  necessary 
that  we  should  know  a  man's  name  in  order  to  hang  him.  In 
reporting  our  proceedings  we  shall,  doubtless,  find  a  name  for 
you.  For  the  present,  we  will  consider  you  one  John,  or  Tom, 
or  Peter  Nemo.  Remember,  Sergeant  Millhouse,  and  you  Pomp/ 
and  you,  boys,  generally,  that  the  prisoner  is  called  Peter  Nemo. 
alias  John  Nemo,  alias  Nebuchadnessar.  Fish,  alias " 

"  I  don't  answer  to  any  such  names !" 

"  Silence  gives  consent !  You  don't  answer  to  any  name,  nor, 
it  would  seem,  to  any  thing !  Don't  deceive  yourself,  my  plea 
sing  prisoner.  I  don't  care  a  straw  whether  you  answer  or  not. 
That's  just  as  you  please.  But  we  must  go  through  certain 
forms,  for  your  own  sake  ;  and,  for  the  same  reason  — simply  to 
give  you  every  chance  —  I  must  put  some  other  questions  to 
you.  I  don't  want  you  to  answer,  if  you  don't  think  proper  to 
do  so.  Who  were  your  confederates,  your  allies,  your  associates, 
in  this  highway  robbery  ?" 

"  There's  no  highway  robbery." 

"  Sorry  that  we  must  differ,  my  friend,  in  this  matter.  You 
are  unfortunate  that  we  found  you  in  the  act  —  in  the  full  po. - 
session  of  the  plunder.  I  am  indulgent  to  you.  I  will  repeat 
the  question  —  who  were  your  associates  in  the  interesting  enter 
prise  in  which  I  found  you  engaged?" 

"  Nobody  !  Ask  me  no  questions.  I  sha'n't  answer.  Take 
me  to  jail,  if  you  choose." 

"  Jail,  my  friend  !  Impossible  !  I  don't  approve  of  imprison 
ment.  It  degrades  a  freeman  into  the  condition  of  a  wild  beast. 
I  should  think  a  man  of  your  spirit  would  prefer  death,  a  thou 
sand  times,  to  incarceration  within  stone  walls,  and  iron  brace 
lets.  No  !  no  !  .my  friend,  we  will  not  punish  you  so  cruelly. 
Your  tortures,  when  your  trial  is  over,  shall  be  short.  Who  was 
the  ringleader  in  this  expedition  ]" 

"Oh!  bed d!     Don't  bother  me  with  your  axings.    .1 

ain't  guine  to  answer  nothing  !" 

"You  are  irreverent,  my  poor  fellow;  you  don't  know  the 
mischief  you  may  do  yourself!  Once  more,  let  me  know  how 


166  WOODCRAFT. 

many  persons,  and  who,  were  concerned  in  this  enterprise,  which 
you  will  not  allow  was  highway  robbery.  Who  first  set  you 
upon  it ;  who  was  your  leader :  and  what  was  your  scheme 
throughout?  —  Make  a  clean  breast  of  it,  my  good  fellpw,  that 
you  may  have  '  well  done'  said  to  you  for  once  in  your  life." 

"Ax  away,  'tell  you're  tired.  You  gtt  no  answer  from  me, 
old  Porpoise !" 

'The  poor,  d d  fool !"  quoth  Millhouse,  in*  a  whisper  to 

Lance.  ''Every  word  he  says  is  a-hitching  him  tighter  and 
tighter  !" 

"  That  has  a  salt-water  sound  !"  was  the  remark  of  Porgy, 
quietly  made,  but  there  was  a  sudden  redness  about  the  cheek 
and  gills,  as  he  spoke,  that  showed  him  beginning  to  be  chafed 
fit  the  outlaw's  insolence.  He  restrained  every  ebullition  of 
temper,  however,  in  recognition  of  what  he  held  to  be  the  sol 
emn  unimpassioned  character  of  his  present  duty  ;  and  continued 
to  put  his  questions,  in  various  shapes,  until  he  had  exhausted 
all  the  proper  subjects  of  inquiry, ,and  afforded  the  prisoner  the 
fullest  opportunity  to  reveal  all  that  he  knew.  This  done,  and 
the  answers  being  all  equally  unsatisfactory  and  insolent,  our 
captain  of  partisans  turned  to  Sergeant  Millhouse. 

"  Mr.  Sheriff,  we  have  given  our  prisoner  every  chance ;  but 
he. is  wedded   to  his  idols  and  vanities  —  he  rejects  every  op 
portunity  of  mercy  !     There  is   a  proverb,  Mr.  Sheriff,  upon 
which  we,  in  the  army,  are  always  prompt  to  act,  and  the  ex 
pediency   of   which   our   experience    has    usually   confirmed — 
4  The  bird  that  can  sing,  and  won't  sing' — Eh !  you  remember, 
sergeant-?" 
^-    "  Must  be  made  to  swing  /" 

"Exactly!" 

"  I've  been  a-thinking,  cappin,  for  a  long  time,  that  you  was 
a'most  forgitting  our  army  practice.  I've  been  a-wanting  to 
clap  a  stopper  on  the  fellow's  muzzle  ever  sence  you  begun  to 
ax  him  the  questions." 

"  Ah  !  but  a  muzzle  was  not  the  thing  exactly.  To  make  him 
•unmuzzle,  was  my  object.  Well,  he  would  not  do  so  to  please 
us,  we  must  now  persuade  him  to  do  so  to  please  himself!  Give 
him  a  stretch,  Sheriff!  Appoint  a  couple  of  thp  Ethiopians, 
your  deputies  for  the  occasion,  while  you  act  as  Provost  Marshall 


RAPID   PROCESSES   OF   EXTEMPORE   LAW.  157 

and"—  looking  about  and  above  him  —  "there  is  a  good  large 
hickory  upon  the  left  which  seems  to  have  stretched  out  its  arms 
for  the  very  purpose  the  moment  it  was  wanted.  Let  him  be 
persuaded  to  that  hickory  !" 

Millhouse  seemed  to  have  provided  himself  with  due  refer 
ence  to  the  exigency.  His  single  remaining  hand  produced  a 
coil  of  slender  rope  from  behind  him.  A  running  noose  was 
found  in  it  already ;  and,  calling  Pompey  from  the  crowd,  the 
fiddler  was  made  to  take  the  rope  over  his  shoulder,  and  ascend 
the  hickory.  He  stood  on  one  of  its  outstretching  boughs,  and, 
having  dropped  the  cord  across  the  bough,  sat  quietly  awaiting 
the  prisoner. 

"  You  see  !"  said  Porgy  to  Norris. 

The  fellow  refused  to  look  up,  but  sat  doggedly,  with  his 
head  stuck  on  one  side,  as  if  with  the  most  rigid  determination. 

"  You  hear  !"  continued  Porgy.  "  Be  warned,  my  poor  fellow, 
and  make  a  free  confession.  There  is  no  good  reason  why  your 
tongue  should  make  your  throat  suffer.  Speak  freely,  and  don't 
make  a  figure  of  yourself." 

No  answer ! 

"  Let  him  be  persuaded  to  speak,  Mr.  Sheriff,"  said  Porgy, 
in  accents  as  mild  as  those  of  Ali  Pacha  in  his  most  patriarchal 
moments.  In  an  instant,  and  at  a  sign  from  Millhouse,  a  couple 
of  the  negroes  seized  upon  the  prisoner,  and  in  their  stalwart 
arms,  it  required  but  a  moment  to  conduct  him  to  the  desig 
nated  tree.  Another  moment  sufficed  to  slip  the  noose  about  his 
neck  ;  this  done,  the  negroes  took  hold  of  the  rope  with  alacrity, 
and,  thus  in  readiness,  they  looked  to  the  captain  for  his  further 
orders. 

"  You  feel  ?"  said  Porgy  to  the  outlaw. 

No  answer. 

"  My  friend,"  continued  the  captain  of  partisans,  "  I  would 
not  rufHe  a  single  feather  in  the  wing  of  so  innocent  a  bird  as 
yourself;  but  birds  must  be  made  to  sing  at  the  proper  season. 
Will  you  sing  for  us  ?" 

«  No  !  d n  my  liver  if  I  do  !" 

"  You  have  been  a  bad  liver,  my  poor  fellow.  Whether  you 
will  die  as  you  have  lived,  is  a  question  for  yourself!  I  give 
you  time.  I  am,  naturally,  the  most  tender-hearted  man  in  the 


158  WOODCRA Fl . 

world  ;  but  tough  rogues  must  be  made  tender  also.  Confess  j 
I  would  not  be  guilty  of  a  cruelty  to  beast  or  man  ;  but  out 
lawry  must  be  stopped  ;  and  thieving  and  murder  are  such  of 
fences,  that  indiscreet  persons,  like  yourself,  must  be  made  to  for 
bear  them.  Open  your  eyes  to  your  danger,  and  empty  your 
bosom  of  its  evil  secrets.  I  will  count  one  dozen,  while  you 
meditate  what  to  do.  I  will  count  slowly,  that  you  may  have, 
time  for  meditation  ;  but,  sc  sure  as  I  am  an  honest  judge,  and 
my  sheriff  a  faithful  officer,  if,  by  the  time  I  have  said  tu-ch-c, 
you  do  ftot  confess,  you  ride  a  nag  that  blacksmith  never  yet 
tried  to  shoe." 

And  the  captain  of  partisans  began  the  tale  with  well  measur 
ed  deliberation  ;  pausing,  between  the  numbers,  the  length  of 
a  colon  at  least  —  "  one  :"  "  two  :"  "  three j"  and  so-forth  ! 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

THE    APPLICATION    OF    "T.4E    QUESTION." 

MEANWHILE,  the  squatter,  Bostwick,  had  become  quite  sensible 
of  the  danger  of  his  comrade.  He  could  not  mistake  his  situa 
tion,  or  the  nature  of  the  experiment  which  was  about  to  be 
tried  upon  his  firmness.  Old  experience  had  made  him  quite 
familiar  with  the  whole  process.  He  was  very  well  aware  that 
the  purpose,  of  the  partisans  would  not  be  simply  to  execute 
punishment  upon  him,  except  in  degree  ;  and  simply  to  the  ex 
tent  which  would  insure  the  revelation  of  his  secret.  But  this 
was  the  very  danger  that  he  most  dreaded.  Were  they  to  slay 
the  prisoner  outright,  the  squatter  would  be  much  less  disquieted. 
But  to  force  him  to  speak — to  compel  him  to  buy  his  life  by 
giving  up  his  comrades  —  was  a  danger  to  himself,  involving 
many  dangers,  which  he  could  by  no  means  contemplate  with 
serenity.  Agitated  by  various  dark  and  savage  feelings,  he  un 
consciously  advanced  several  paces  from  the  spot  where  he  had 
sheltered  himself.  He  advanced  •  but  did  not  forget  his  caution. 
Hb  approach  was  still  from  cover  to  cover;  his  place  of  conceal- 


TI1K    APPLICATION    OF    "THK    QUi'STION.  '  Io9 

ment  being  always  made  sure  of  before  taking  a  single  forward 
step.  But  he  again  receded  —  once  more  crouched  into  the 
thicket,  and  leaned  against  the  tree  ;  the  big  sweat  coursing,  in 
beaded  drops,  upon  his  swarthy  forehead.  But  he  still  kept 
watch  upon  his  unhappy  comrade,  and  upon  the  proceedings  of 
his  judges.  Sometimes,  he  muttered  in  brief  spasmodic  soliloquy, 
as  if  endeavoring  to  assure  himself,  in  some  such  utterances  as 
the  following :  — 

"  He  will  die  game  !  He  will  not  confess  !  Very  well  —  all's 
right!  Norris  was  always  a  tough  fellow.  He  won't  give  up  ! 
I  wisli  1  could  help  him  ;  but.  that's  onpossible.  But  they  won't 
carry  it  through  !  It's  only  to  scare  him  !  He  knows  that  f 
He  won't  leak  !  He'll  keep  all  close  !  — Ah  !" 

He  again  advanced,  and  a  shudder  went  over  his  frame.  Ho 
caught  up  his  rifle,  threw  it  out,  and  drew  it  to  the  range,  as  if 
in  the  act  to  fire,  but  in  a  moment  after  dropped  it  in  the  hollow 
of  his  arm  again,  while  he  murmured:  — 

"  It's  no  use  !  It  kin  do  no  good  !  I  might  kill  one  on  'em, 
easy  enough  ;  but  that  wouldn't  save  him,  and  would  only  resk 
myself.  Better  he  should  die  in  the  rope  !  Every  man  has  his 
time.  He  must  die  some  time  or  other.  Ef  I  could  help  him, 
wouldn't  I  ?  But  I  can't  !  It's  onpossible,  me  one,  to  do  any 
thing  !  Ah  !  they're  at  him !  The  bloody  tigers !  I  know 
what  they're  arter !." 

r  Meanwhile,  at  the  signal  of  Millhouse,  the  culprit  was  drawn 
up  slowly  into  the  air.  His  hands  were  tied  behind  him.  He 
coulft  offer  no  resistance.  He  slfowed  no  submission  —  uttered 
no -entreaty  —  submitted  doggedly  to  the  torture  —  impressed 
with  the  idea,  no  doubt,  that  the  party  would  not  proceed  to 
extremities,  and  that  the  purpose  was  to  scare  him  only.  He 
accordingly  remained  firm  !  He  bore  without  a  groan  or  strug 
gle  the  painful  disfension  of  his  frame,  and  the  stifling  pressure 
of  the  cord  about  his  throat  —  his  face  alternately  whitening 
and  reddening,  and  his  breast  heaving,  with  the  voluminous 
effort  of  his  lungs. 

Porgy  watched  the  effect  with  painful  feeling.  Practice  had 
not  indurated  him,  and,  though  satisfied  of  the  outlaw's  deserts, 
and  fully  sensible  of  the  importance  of  procuring  his  confession, 
and  not  prepared  to  quarrel  with  a  process  which  the  practice 


1HO  WOtXDCl.lAi'T, 

of  the  army  had  fully  justified  —  lie  was  yet  not  insensible  to  the 
claims  of  humanity  ;  and  was  disposed  to  spare  the  victim  as 
much  as  possible.  It  is  indeed  highly  probable,  that,  as  was  the 
Conjecture  of  the  prisoner  himself,  and  of  his  ally  the  squatter, 
our  captain  of  partisans  did  not  really  meditate  anything  beyond 
the  wholesome  fright  which  would  compel  the  outlaw  to  disgorge 
his  secrets.  But  the  fellow  remained  obstinately  silent,  and  his 
judges  were  disappointed. 

"  Kase  him  down,  sergeant,"  was  the  order  of  the  captain. 

"  Now,  fellow,"  he  continued,  as  soon  as  the  criminal  had 
somewhat  recovered,  "are  you  grown  wiser?  Do  you  begin 
to  comprehend  your  danger  ?  Are  you  ready  to  confess  ?" 

The  half-suffocated  wretch  answered  with  curses,  and  scorn, 
and  defiance  !  In  fact,  from  having  been  let  down  so  soon,  and 
having  suffered  so  much  less  than  he  had  anticipated,  or  had 
even  endured  before,  he  had  grown  more  confident  of  his  posi 
tion,  and  more  insolent  accordingly.  Porgy  replied  to  him  with 
real  sympathy,  but  in  his  own  manner. 

"  My  poor  fellow,  you  are  trifling  with  your  safety.  You 
don't  know  your  danger  !  .  Let  me  warn  you.  Do  not  force  me 
to  the  last  extremity." 

A  brutal  oath  was  the  only  answer. 

"  Iloist  away,  boys,"  cried  Millhouse,  not  waiting  for  the 
orders  of  his  superior.  Again  the  fellow  was  hauled  up,  again 
let  down,  but  with  the  same  result.  Porgy  began  to  grow  res- 
tiff  under  the  insolence  of  the  outlaw,  who,  evidently  suffering, 
was  as  insolent  after  recovering  as  ever.  Time  was  accorded 
him,  and  new  exhortations  addressed  to  him. 

"  My  poor  fellow,"  said  Porgy,  "  you  must  speak  now  or 
never !  Your  last  chance  is  before  you.  If  you  go  up  again, 
you  only  come  down  to  make  a  full  confession,  or  you  come 
down  a  dead  man  !  You  hear  what  I  say  ?  I  am  in  earnest ! 
You  have  shown  yourself  very  much  a  fool  as  well  as  a  robber. 
The  time  left  you  for  growing  wise  is  very  short.  The  sun  is 
near  his  setting  !  Confess  your  accomplices,  and  if  we  can  catch 
and  convict  them  by  your  evidence,  we'll  get  yo1?.  clear  !  Show 
yourself  hardened,  and  you  sleep  to-night  six  feet  under  this 
tree.  You  have  heard  ;  will  you  deliver  ?" 

"  Do  your  d dest  !     I  ain't  afear'd  I" 


THE    APPLICATION    OF    "  TITK    QUESTION."  IGl 

This  is  quite  enough  of  his  answer,  which  exhibited  greater 
brutality  than  before.  We  suppress  the  oaths  witli  which  he- 
garnished  every  sentence.  Again  the  executioners,  at  a  signal 
from  Millhouse,  mutely  drew  the  fellow  up  to  the  tree  —  this 
time  with  a  swift  motion  and  a  somewhat  rapid  jerk.  Millhouse 
had  served  as  provost-marshal  on  other  occasions.  The  out 
law  now  showed  great  distress.  It  was  seen  that  his  hands 
worked — opened  and  shut  —  as  if  giving  signs;  then  he  kicked 
desperately  His  gasping,  at  length,  grew  into  sounds  like 
speech,  and  the  party  below  at  once  understood  the  half-stifled 
assurance,  that  he  would  confess  if  let  down.  The  miserable 
wretch  succumbed  the  moment  he  began  to  fear  that  his  judge 
was  in  earnest.  His  sufferings  were  of  a  sort  to  induce  this 
change  in  his  opinions.  He  could  not  have  borne  them  much 
longer  and  lived.  He  was  already  black  in  the  face,  and  his 
eyes  seemed  starting  from  their  sockets.  Porgy  had  already 
thwarted  his  own  policy  in  the  premature  yieldings  which  he 
had  shown.  He  was  evidently  unwilling  to  urge  the  torture 
beyond  the  degree  necessary  for  his  object.  He  had  tried  to 
maintain  his  apparent  calmness ;  it  was  a  matter  of  pride  with 
him  that  he  should  do  so  ;  but  he  was  not  always  successful ; 
and  now,  as  he  witnessed  the  sufferings  of  the  outlaw,  he  cried 
out  quickly  to  Millhouse  :  — 

"  Let  him  down,  sergeant.     For  God's  sake,  let  him  down !" 

Millhouse  hesitated,  and  ventured  to  expostulate. 

"  He's  a  mighty  tough  rascal,  cap'n  !  'Tain't  tell  the  life  gits 
a'most  clean  out  of  the  body  of  such  a  rascal,  that  .the  honesty 
gits  in  !  Don't  be  too  easy  with  him,  or  we'll  have  to  do  it  all 
over  again." 

"  Let  him  down,  I  say,  sergeant !" 

"  Very  well ;  it's  jest  as  you  say.  One  thing's  sartain.  He's 
had  a  lectio  bit  of  a  warning  this  time ;  jest  a  sort  of  idee  of 
what's  the  raal  state  of  the  argyment.  He  feels  it  too.  He's 
not  guine  to  crow  agin  to-day  —  and  when  a  rogue  stops  to 
crow,  why,  you  may  look  for  him  to  sing  as  you  want  him  !" 

Millhouse  was  a  tough  customer  even  as  a  soldier.  While  he 
soliloquized,  he  motioned  the  negroes  to  let  the  outlaw  descend 
slowly.  When  the  fellow  readied  the  ground,  and  the  rope  was 
relaxed,  he  sank  down  upon  the  earth  exhausted,  though  ;>p- 


162  WOODCRAFT. 

parently  striving-  to  speak.  Lance  Frampton  promptly  clapped 
a  bottle  to  his  month. 

"Why,  Lance',  what's  that?"  inquired  Porgy,  with  a  new 
interest  in  the  transaction.  The  youth  slightly  laughed. 

"  Jamaica,  captain." 

"  Jamaica  !     Where  did  it  come  from  ?" 

"The  wagon,  sir!  This  lark  had  been  long  enough  in  it  to 
knock  the  bung  out  of  a  keg  and  try  the  liquor.  It  was  open 
when  they  went  to  load  the  wagon,  and  Toby  filled  a  bottle  or 
two  for  us,  thinking  it  might  help  us  in  sickness,  or " 

"Ah  !  rascal  —  and  you  heard  me  sighing  for  this  very  stuff 
after  our  fatiguing  services,  and  never  gave  signs-of  life  !" 

This  was  said  very  reproachfully. 

"  I  knew  the  sort  of  work  to  be  done,  captain,  and  didn't  know 
whether  we  ought  to  do  any  drinking  in  camp  while  the  enemy 
was  about  us  in  the  woods." 

"  You  were  right,  boy  !  Many's  the  good  fellow  that  has  lost 
his  scalp  from  taking  too  much  heed  to  his  swallow.  But  I  am 
not  the  person,  as  you  should  know,  to  err  thus — and  I  was 
almost  fainting." 

"  Yes,  sir,  but  if  you  had  seen  the  bottle,  the  sergeant  and 
Torn,  sir,  would  have  have  seen  it  too,  and " 

"  Git  out,  you  impartinent !"  quoth  Millhouse,  interrupting 
him,  with  a  slight  kick  —  "and  don't  be  choking  him  with  an 
overdose." ' 

He  pushed  him  away  from  Norris  as  he  spoke.  The  outlaw, 
meanwhile,  had  been  made  to  swallow  a  few  mouthfuls  of  the 
Jamaica,  which  had  somewhat  recovered  him,  though  lie  looked 
about  him  vacantly,  with  blood-shot  eyes,  and  seemed  still  very 
much  stupefied.  Porgy  was  disposed  to  be  indulgent,  and  pre 
pared  to  wait  on  the  fellow  for  his  revelations  ;  but  Millhouse 
thought  this  was  altogether  a  mistaken  pity.  He  looked  out 
impatiently  into  the  west,  where  the  sun,  himself  no  longer  visi 
ble,  was  glinting  the  forest  tops  with  faint  horizontal  fires. 

"  I'm  a-thinking,  cappin,  we  hain't  got  too  much  time  to  be 
wasting  on  this  here  rapscallion  !  Ef  he's  got  to  speak,  let  him 
speak  !  He  kin  make  the  music,  or  he  kaint !  Another  h'ist 
will  bring  it  out  of  him,  I  reckon.  We've  got  a  good  eight 
Tiiles  to  ride,  and  we'll  bo  in  the  night." 


THE   APPLICATION   OP 

Porgy  looked  at  the  outlaw  forbearhigly.  The  fellow  had 
evidently  suffered  a  good  deal,  and  was  still  suffering,  though 
his  glances  showed  that  he  had  fully  understood  all  that  had 
b*ieu  said,  and  was  not  now  insensible  to  his  danger.  He  felt 
ti  at  Millhouse,  at  all  events,  a  hard  old  soldier,  was  in  down 
right  earnest;  and  he  might  reasonably  conclude  that  his  sug 
gestion  would,  in  the  end,  influence  the  decision  of  his  superior. 

"  It  will  not  need  many  words,"  said  Porgy.  "We  can  ride 
in  the  night,  sergeant,  I  think.  We've  done  it  a  thousand 
times  before,  in  worse  weather,  and  with  home  much  farther  off 
Nay,  with  no  home  at  all  to  go  to  !  Give  the  poor  devil  a 
chance  to  recover.  We  may  have  to  hang  him  after  all.  But 
I  hope  not.  He  has  had  a  strong  taste  of  the  tree,  that  last 
trial ;  and  lias  probably  come  to  his  senses.  Give  him  the  need 
ful  time  to  get  his  wits  together.  When  he  does  speak,  it  is 
only  to  answer  some  half-dozen  questions,  which  will  hardly  need 
as  many  sentences.  Meanwhile,  let  some  of  the  boys  be  getting 
our  horses  ready." 

Frampton  gave  the  necessary  orders,  and  two  or  three  of  the 
negroes  proceeded  to  this  duty.  The  horses  captured  from  the 
outlaws  were  among  the  objects  of  their  care.  While  they 
were  thus  employed,  and  Porgy  and  his  companions  waiting, 
with  more  or  less  impatience,  upon  the  slowy  recovering  outlaw, 
how  did  the  squatter,  Bostwick,  employ  himself1?  His  interest 
in  the  progress  of  the  affair,  we  may  be  sure,  has  undergone  no 
diminution.  The  proceedings,  which  we  have  thus  far  detailed, 
were  all  as  evident  to  his  understanding  as  they  were  apparent 
to  his  sight.  He  had  beheld  the  sufferings  of  Norris,  with  feel 
ing  for  which  he  could  not  easily  find  words ;  not  pity  exactly 
—  the  sentiment  was  one  not  likely  to  penetrate  his  bosom  — 
but  gratitude  perhaps ;  at  all  events,  with  a  conviction  that  the 
degree  of  endurance  which  the  outlaw  was  required  to  show, 
was  quite  as  important  to  Ids  safety  —  though  more  remotely  — 
as  to  that  of  the  sufferer  himself.  Anxiety,  the  more  predomi 
nant  feeling,  was  naturally  mixed  up,  accordingly,  with  a  cer 
tain  annoying  sense  of  self-reproach,  which  gave  bitterness  to 
his  moods,  and  made  him  eager  to  be  doing  something  which 
might  employ  his  rage  against  the  persecutors  of  his  colleague 

This  sort    »f  feeling,  of  mixed  anxiety  and  rage,  changed  to 


164  WOODCRA1T. 

absolute  terror  when  lie  saw  the  culprit  let  down  from  the  tree 
for  the  first  time.  Had  he  then  consented  to  reveal  his  secret.  1 
Was  he  already  frightened  from  his  propriety'?  Beyond  the 
torture  of  the  process,  Bostwick  readily  persuaded  himself  that 
there  was  no  real  danger  to  the  victim.  He  had  seen,  from  the 
slow  and  gradual  manner  in  which  the  executioners  worked, 
thnt  the  purpose  was  neither  to  strangle  him  nor  to  break  his 
neck!  When  let  down,  accordingly,  he  rationally  conjectmed 
that,  this  was  done  only  to  receive  his  confession.  Such  a  con 
viction  naturally  filled  his  soul  with  fear.  His  brain  throbbed 
He  advanced  nervously,  some  ten  steps  nearer,  with  the  most 
desperate  impulses ;  but  paused  —  relieved,  in  some  degree, 
when  he  saAv  the  executioner  resume  his  cruel  toils,  and  saw  the 
culprit  reascending.  But  his  fears  were  aroused  anew  when,  a 
second  time,  he  saw  him  let  down  to  the  earth.  A  new  relief 
was  brought  him  when,  a  third  time,  he  beheld  the  struggling 
figure  of  his  comrade  depending  in  empty  air.  The  selfish 
nature  of  the  ruffian  actually  rejoiced  in  the  sufferings,  so  well 
endured,  of  the  miserable  wretch,  as  they  seemed  to  promise 
him  security  for  his  secrets  —  as  they  testified  to  the  hardy 
courage  of  the  sufferer,  and  seemed  to  declare  his  determination 
to  suffer  the  last  extremities  rather  than  betray  his  pledges, 
even  to  associates  so  unworthy  of  such  fidelity.  He  could  value 
this  virtue  in  another,  as  it  told  for  his  own  security.  With  a 
husky  chuckle,  he  kept  repeating  to  himself  as  he  beheld  the 
spectacle  — 

"  Oh  !  he's  all  flint  and  iron  !  He's  close  as  an  eyester  !  You 
can't  prize  his  jaws  open,  and  make  his  tongue  wag,  however 
you  kin  fix  it !  Norris  is  a  glorious  chap.  He's  true  blue ! 
I  always  know'd  him  for  a  man  !  He'll  die  game  !  with  a  stiff 
upper  lip  !  Poor  Dick  !  Ef  I  could  only  help  you,  wouldn't 
you  see  the  fur  fly  !" 

Then,  as  he  beheld  the  dangling  figure  again  going  up,  he 
almost  cried  aloud — 

"  Hold  on  awhile  longer,  Dick  !  Hold  on,  and  they'll  hev'  to 
give  it  up  !  Sket  [shut]  your  teeth  fast,  Dick — jes'  stand  to  it 
now,  this  one  time,  and  they'll  let  you  off'.  It's  only  to  scare 
the  truth  out  of  you ;  but  don't  be  scared ;  and  I'm  here  to 
save  you  at  the  right  time." 


THE    APriJCATTONT    OF   "  TU E    QUESTION/'  165 

And,  as  if  his  comrade  could  hear  every  syllable  he  said,  he 
proceeded  with  whispered  assurances  ot  succor. 

"They'll  carry  you  off  to  Porgy's  house,  and  I'll  follow. 
They  ain't  got  no  lock-up.  I'll  be  close  ahind  them.  I'll  watch 
ti.e  proper  chance  for  cutting  in,  and  getting  you  out.  It's  only 
a  sharp  eye,  and  a  light  foot,  and  a  bold  heart,  and  a  keen 
knife,  and,  maybe,  a  quick  bullet,  and  we  kin  git  you  out  of  the 
hands  of  any  one  they  puts  to  watch  over  you  ;  and  I'm  here,  a 
free  man  still,  to  help  you,  Dick;  and  you  knows  me,  Dick  — 
you  knows  Bostwick  —  lie  never  desarts  a  friend  so  long  as  life's 
in  him.  Close,  Dick,  and  don't  you  be  scared !" 

And  all  this,  though  spoken  in  a  whisper,  or  at  most  a  mur 
mur,  was  accompanied  with  a  restless,  eager  action,  as  if  every 
syllable  could  reach  the  ears  of  the  victim,  and  every  movement 
of  the  speaker  was  apparent  to  his  eyes.  The  encouragement 
thus  spoken  was  really  meant  to  reassure  himself.  For  a  mo 
ment,  although  the  sweat  covered  his  face  and  neck,  it  seemed 
to  have  the  effect.  His  manner  became  calmer — his  eye  more 
steady  —  and  with  even  step  he  stole  back  to  the  sheltering 
place  from  which  he  had  advanced. 

But  when,  the  third  time,  he  beheld  the  culprit  swing  aloft  — 
when  the  distress  of  the  victim  was  observed  to  be  greater  than 
before  —  when  his  hands  were  seen  to  work  and  twist,  even  in 
their  gyves,  and  the  legs  were  convulsively  thrown  out  with 
spasmodic  action  —  and  the  forms  below  were  observed  to  be 
^nore  than  usually  attentive,  while  the  extended  hand  of  Porgy 
seemed  to  promise  indulgent  mercy  ;  and  when,  a  moment  after, 
the  outlaw  was  let  down  suddenly,  supported  tenderly  beneath 
the  tree,  and  liquor  brought  to  refresh  him  :  then,  the  apprehen 
sions  of  the  squatter  obtained  full  ascendency.  He  then  knew 
\\\  his  danger.  He  felt  that  the  revelation  was  about  to  be 
made.  He  understood  the  terms  of  mercy.  He  saw  that  the 
prisoner  was  let  down,  and  those  attentions  shown  him,  only  be 
cause  of  his  promise  of  confession ;  and  though,  from  the  spot 
where  he  stood,  he  heard  not  a  word  that  was  spoken,  he  yet 
understood  the  new  relations  of  the  parties  as  thoroughly  as  if 
.•fimseJf  one  of  the  nearest  bystanders.  His  opinion  of  his  com- 
rade  changer!  instantly  from  the.  favorable  one  which  he  had  Sv. 
n  centl  >  ex  pressed. 


166  tVOODCRAFT. 

"  The  mean,  miserable  skunk  !"  he  exclaim cd.  "  He  couldn't 
grin  and  keep  it  in,  like  a  man !  Ef  I  was  only  nigh  him  jes 
to  drive  my  knife  into  his  jaws !  The  poor,  mean,  cowardly 
beast,  with  no  more  sperrit  than  a  spider !  But  he  mus'n't  tell ! 
Lord  G — d  !  he  mus'n't  tell !  He  must  shet  up  for  ever.  Ef  he 
speaks,  I'm  gone  !  Let  me  see.  They've  lifted  him  again ! 
Thar  he  stands  up  afore  the  inimy.  I  could  put  a  bullet 
through  jacket  of  either  of  them  ;  but  what's  the  use  ?  I  could 
kill  one  of  'em,  I  reckon ;  but  that  wouldn't  help  him  !  The 
niggers  is  there,  and  they've  got  we'pons  too ;  and,  with  the 
other  two  white  men,  they'd  soon  be  upon  him,  and  finish  him. 
They'd  be  upon  me,  too;  but  —  looking  around  him  —  "I 
reckon  'twould  be  a  cold  trail  they'd  have  a'ter  me  !  I  could 
put  swamp  enough  a-tween  us  to  laugh  at  all  their  s'arching. 
What's  to  be  done  ?  It  must  be  done  !  Lord  ha'  mercy  upon 
you,  Dick  Non-is  —  you're  a  most  bloody  fool!  But  ef  you're 
coward  enough  to  blab,  I  ain't  fool  enough  to  let  you,  ef  I  kin 
help  it." 

The  squatter  now  advanced  a  few  paces.  He  moved  confi 
dently,  as  if  his  policy  had  been  fully  determined  upon.  He 
surveyed  his  ground  very  narrowly  —  saw  that  he  had  space  for 
a  run — calculated  nicely  the  distance  of  the  swamp  thicket  — 
the  proximity  of  the  cypress  tree  —  the  shelters,  severally,  of 
the  gall  and  hurrah-bushes  —  and  then  deliberately  wiped  the 
perspiration  from  his  brows  with  his  sleeve.  His  head  was 
stretched  forward,  as  if,  at  the  distance  of  a  hundred  yards  01 
more,  he  could  hear  anything  that  was  spoken,  and  in  this  atti 
tude  he  appeared  to  listen.  He  seemed  certainly  disposed  to 
wait  a  while  on  the  proceedings  of  the  partisans. 

Meanwhile  the  outlaw,  Norris,  was  recovering. 

"  You  feel  easier  now,  my  good  fellow,"  said  Porgy,  "  a  :( 
we've  given  you  every  indulgence.  You've  had  time  enougn. 
Tell  your  story  now  ;  say  who  are  your  accomplices;  who  s..i 
you  on  this  expedition,  and  what  were  its  precise  objects.  A 
clean  breast  of  it,  my  man,  if  you  would  hope  for  mercy  ;  or  yon 
are  run  up  for  the  last  time  !" 

"  I'll  tell  you  all !"  said  Norris,  utterly  broken  down. 

"  Good !"  answered  Porgy.  ''The  sooner  you  set  about  it 
the  better;  for  though  really  willing  to  wait  upon  you,  and  ho 


HOW    THE    FOX    DOUBLES.  167 

as  indulgent  as  possible,  time  won't  suffer  it.  We  can't  afford  to 
lose  the  daj'light;  AVC  must  ride." 

""Well,  I'll  tell  you,"  began  the  outlaw.  "There  was  six  of 
us,  you  must  know.  We  was  got  together  in  Charleston  for 
this  — " 

Here  he  stopped  suddenly,  perforce.  He  was  not  permitted  an- 
.other  syllable  —  arrested,  at  the  very  opening  of  his  revelations, 
by  a  stroke,  as  if  from  the  very  bolt  of  fate.  A  rifle-bullet  was 
in  his  brain !  The  report  of  the  rifle  and  the  effect  of  the  shot 
were  one.  The  victim  was  falling  forward,  among  the  group  of 
listeners,  at  the  very  moment  when  the  report  of  the  gun  \vas 
heard.  The  bullet  was  aimed  with  the  truest  skill.  It  had  bored 
its  way  through  the  forhead,  a  little  over  the  eyes,  the  region 
above  both  of  which  it  completely  traversed.  The  miserable 
wretch  was  dead  before  he  fell! 

A  moment  after,  and  Bostwick  wheeled  about  for  the  swamp, 
lie  had  but  few  words  more  of  soliloquy. 

' '  It  had  to  be  done  Dick  Norris !  Ef  you  had  to  speak  for 
your  life,  I  had  to  stop  you  for  mine !  I  would  ha'  saved  you, 
but  you  wouldn't  let  me!  I'm  mighty  sorry,  but  it  had  to  be 
done ! " 

The  swamp  thicket  received  him  a  moment  after. 


CHAPTEE  XXVII. 

HOW  THE  FOX  DOUBLES,  WHILE  THE   HOUNDS  PURSUE. 

IT  would  be  much  more  easy  to  imagine  than  to  describe  the 
confusion  which  ensued  among  our  partisans  and  their  followers 
by  this  unexpected  catastrophe  within  their  circle.  For  a  moment 
all  seemed  paralyzed.  The  event  was  so  strange,  so  startling,  and 
so  utterly  unaccountable,  particularly  supposing  it  to  be  the  act  of 
one  of  the  outlaws.  Porgy  was  the  first  to  recover,  and  to  con 
ceive  the  motive  for  the  murder  by  the  fellow's  colleague.  lie 
Started  up,  and  cried  aloud — 


1GS  WOODCRAFT. 

' '  One  hundred  guineas  to  him  who  shall  take  the  murderer 
alive!" 

One  hundred  guineas!  Our  captain  of  partisans  was  a  per 
son  of  most  magnificent  ideas.  Porgy  had  not,  himself,  seen 
such  an  amount  of  cash,  in  one  heap,  during  the  last  seven 
years!  We  have  already  been  advised  of  the  very  moderate 
amount  in  guineas  which  he  bore  away  with  him  at  the  disband-* 
ing  of  the  army.  But  our  captain  always  spoke  in  round  imm 
bers,  such  as  could  roll  of!  trippingly  from  the  tongue.  He 
might  have  been  good  for  five  guineas,  and  no  doubt  he  would 
have  given  this  number  cheerfully,  though  it  drained  him  of 
every  copper  that  he  had ;  but  a  hundred !  He  laughed,  some 
what  bitterly,  a  moment  after,  at  the  audacity  of  his  own  imagi 
nation. 

But  it  did  not  need  any  reward,  so  soon  as  the  party  had 
sufficiently  recovered  their  faculties,  to  stimulate  their  pursuit  o!' 
the  murderer.  But  there  was  a  decided  pause  for  a.  brief  space 
after  the  event.  The  negroes,  at  first,  were  terribly  alarmed; 
some  crouched  closely  to  the  earth,  while  others  were  disposed  to 
scatter  themselves  in  flight.  All  but  Tom,  the  cook,  who  was  ;m 
old  soldier,  and  Pomp,  the  fiddler,  who,  flattered  by  recent  dis 
tinctions,  was  ambitious  to  prove  himself  a  young  one  —  were 
utterly  paralyzed  by  their  terrors.  A  gulf,  opening  suddenly  be 
neath  their  feet,  could  not  have  more  suddenly  swallowed  up  their 
courage  than  did  the  unexpected  bullet  of  Bostwick.  But  with 
the  voice  of  Porgy  they  looked  up.  Its  clear  trumpet-tones 
cheered  them,  and  satisfied  them  that  they  were  not  all  slain.  He 
rose  to  his  feet,  with  surprising  agility,  as  he, cried  aloud,  and 
found  Lieutenant  Lance  Frampton  already  on  the  alert,  while  Ser 
geant  Millhouse,  without  a  word,  after  giving  a  single  glace  to  the 
stiffening  body  of  the  outlaw,  proceeded,  at  monstrous  long 
strides,  in  the  direction  whence  came  the  bullet  of  the  Jiving  one. 
Tom,  the  cook,  and  Pomp,  the  fiddler,  both  caught  up  weapons 
and  darted  after  Millhouse.  Frampton  dashed  off,  also,  pursuing 
another  route.  The  negroes  now,  generally,  encouraged  by  these 
demonstrations,  took  heart,  and  followed  in  pursuit  and  search. 
They  were  all  more  or  less  provided  with  weapons,  which  had 
been  taken  from  the  outlaws. 

"Scatter  yourselves,  boys!   scatter  if  you  would   search  ancl 


HOW    THE    FOX    DOUBLES.  169 

be  safe!"  was  the  cry  of  Porgy.  He,  too,  was  in  motion,  with 
an  ability  really  astonishing1  in  his  case.  He  caught  up  sword 
and  pistols  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  and  started  off  at  a  moder 
ate  trot  to  gain  the  tree  where  his  horse  —  that  which  he  had 
taken  from  one  of  the  slain  outlaws  —  wras  fastened  to  a  swinging 
limb.  But  he  was  not  destined  to  reach  it  so  easily,  or  in  so  short 
a  space  of  time  as  he  had  allotted  himself.  He  had  forgotten 
certain  embarrassments  in  his  own  case  —  forgotten  that  he  had, 
in  order  to  the  more  easy  administration  of  justice,  ungirthed  and 
unbuttoned  himself,  when  taking  his  scat  under  the  royal  oak. 
He  was  suddenly  restored  to  recollection  on  this  subject,  and 
brought  to  an  abrupt  stand,  by  feeling  himself  fettered,  with  his 
nether  garments  clinging  about  his  legs.  The  circumstances  in 
which  he  found  himself  were  uttqrly  indescribable,  but  it  will  not 
be  difficult  to  conjure  them.  Pie  was  only  brought  to  a  full  con 
sciousness  of  his  embarrassment  by  nearly  measuring  his  full 
length  upon  the  ground. 

'  "What  a  devil  of  a  fix!"  quoth  he,  soliloquizing.  "Were  I 
now  to  hear  the  cry  which  aroused  the  Hebrew  wrestler  —  '  The 
Philistines  are  upon  thee,  Samson!'  what  should  I  do?  I  should 
be  shot,  and  sabred,  and  scalped,  before  I  could  steady  my  legs 
for  decently  falling  to  the  ground !  I  should  go  over  in  a  heap 
like  a  bushel  of  terrapins!  And  what  a  figure  I  should  make 
upon  the  earth!  How  dreadfully  exposed!  A  most  shameful 
condition  for  '  man  and  soldier ! ' '' 

And  thus  speaking,  he  deliberately  laid  down  sword  and  pis 
tols,  and,  looking  about  him  cautiously,  proceeded  to  draw  up  his 
inexpressibles,  and  to  button,  and  belt  up  —  a  performance  less 
easy  than  necessary. 

''It's  well  the  war  is  over,"  quoth  he,  as  he  labored  to  contract 
his  waistbands  over  his  enormous  waste  of  waist,  and  to  bring  the 
strap  and  buckle  of  his  belt  to  bear.  "I  am  no  longer  fit  for 
war.  It's  wonderful  that  I've  escaped  so  long  and  so  well !  With 
such  a  territory  to  take  care  of,  its  perfectly  surprising  there  have 
been  so  few  trespassers!  I  could  not  always  have  kept  them  off! 
They  would  have  overcome  me  at  last!  They  might  have  caught 
me  at  some  such  awkward  moment,  in  some  such  awkward  fix,  as 
the  present !  Ah !  There !  It  is  done  at  last !  The  wilderness  is 
under  fence  at  last ! " 

8 


170  WOODCRAFT. 

And  he  breathed  long  and  heavily,  after  such  severe  exertion ! 
But  he  wasted  no  more  time  than  was  necessary.  Porgy  was 
no  loiterer  when  duty  was  to  be  done.  lie  skulled  no  task, 
shirked  no  obligations;  and  hence  his  greater  merit,  inclining, 
naturally,  as  he  did,  to  the  creature  comforts,  and  a  selfish  desire 
for  repose  and  luxury.  He  now  reached  his  horse,  and  mounted 
in  a  few  moments.  He  was  a  good  horseman.  It  was  much 
easier  to  raise  than  to  lower  himself  —  easier  to  get  into  the  sad 
dle,  than  to  subside  upon  his  leafy  couch  on  the  earth.  Once  in 
the  saddle,  he  was  a  hard  rider!  The  steed  that  carried  him  had 
a  great  deal  to  bear  besides  his  weight.  He  used  the  spur  freely, 
and  was  never  more  liberal  in  its  use  than  now,  when  required  to 
make  up  for  lost  time.  Headlong,  he  drove  into  the  thick  cover 
of  the  forest,  and  for  the  swamp-fastnesses,  where  the  outlaw, 
Bostwick,  had  taken  refuge.  Here,  our  partisan  captain  was 
soon  found,  making  his  way  over  log  and  through  bog,  in  mire 
and  water,  through  close  thicket  and  tangled  vine,  in  a  wilderness 
from  which  the  light  was  disappearing  fast;  and  as  far  as  horse 
could  well  go,  where  a  career  on  horseback  must  be  very  soon 
arrested. 

The  pursuit  was  hotly  urged.  It  was  well  that  Bostwick 
had  made  his  calculations  so  cunningly,  and  taken  such  de 
liberate  precautions.  He  had  to  deal  with  old  "  swamp-suckers," 
—  hunters  as  keen  and  familiar  with  such  places  as  himself. 
Had  they  been  as  well  acquainted  with  this  particular  locality, 
he  had  never  escaped.  Nay,  had  there  been  one  hour  more  of 
sunlight,  his  chances  would  have  been  very  doubtful.  As  Porgy 
phrased  it  — 

"  But  one  inch  of  candle  more,  and  we  should  have  his  hide." 

As  it  was,  the  outlaw  was  more  than  once  caught  sight  of  in 
the  chase.  Millhouse  once  detected  him,  as  a  half-floating  log 
turned  with  him  in  the  water  Pompey  cried  out  that  he  was 
going  through  the  gall  bushes  in  front;  and  Lance  Frampton 
got  a  clear  view  of  him,  at  long  distance,  crossing  a  tussock. 
He  gave  him  both  pistols  as  he  sped  —  "bang!  bang!"  with 
scarce  an  interval  between  the  two  shots;  but,  at  each  lire, 
Bostwick  was  seen  to  duck  his  head  instinctively;  and,  at  length, 
he  disappeared  in  a  pond,  rising  up  on  the  opposite  side,  amid  a 
heap  of  drift  wood.  Here  he  paused,  with  his  nose  just  out  of 
water  and  lay  still,  as  ho  thought  he  lay  unseen, 


HOW   THE   FOX    DOUBLES.  J71 

Aiid  lie  was  in  a  place  of  safety.  Night  had  come  to  his  relief. 
He  could  hear  the  cries  of  his  pursuers,  but  could  no  longer  sec 
them,  and  he  felt  that  he  was  secure.  It  only  required  that  he 
should  keep  still.  The  sounds  of  pursuit  finally  ceased;  his 
enemies  had* all  disappeared;  and  like  a  great  Newfoundland  clog, 
shivering  all  over,  he  raised  himself  out  of  the  alligator  hole  which 
had  harbored  him,  and  stood,  savage  and  gloomy,  upon  the  neigh 
boring  bank;  the  owl  hooted  overhead  from  the  blasted  cypress, 
and  the  sad  stars  coming  out  one  by  one,  and  looking  down  like 
so  many  mysterious  sentinels  in  Heaven,  watchers  over  the  guilty 
course  of  man  on  earth. 

Bostwick  shivered,  as  he  looked  up,  with  superstition  as  well  as 
cold.  He  had  certainly,  that  day,  received  a  fearful  lesson  of  the 
vicissitudes  and  terrors  which  wait  upon  evil  deeds !  The  way  of 
the  transgressor  is  indeed  hard !  His  comrades  gone ;  not  one  to 
be  seen !  How  many  of  the  live  who  had  set  out  with  him  on  this 
expedition,  now  breathed  the  air  of  life  with  him?  He  knew  not, 
at  that  moment,  of  one  !  He  had  been  baffled  in  the  purpose  he 
had  in  view.  Had  lost  everything  —  even  his  rifle,  which,  in  the 
hottest  of  the  pursuit,  he  had  been  compelled  to  cast  away.  But  one 
thing  he  had  saved  —  the  box  of  the  widow  Eveleigh,  containing 
the  fifty  guineas,  and  the  papers  which  M'Kewn  so  much  desired! 
He  had  concealed  this  box  in  a  hiding-place  in  the  swamp  above, 
which  he  had  no  fear  would  be  discovered  This  was  consolation 
in  the  recollection  of  these  fifty  guineas.  He  had  other  consola 
tions  when  he  thought  of  the  papers  and  M'Kewn !  For  the  latter, 
his  present  situation  filled  him  with  new  bitterness. 

u  D — n  him !  "  he  muttered  to  himself.  "He  shall  pay  well  for 
them  afore  he  gits  them !  He  shall  make  up  to  me  alt  my  losses ! 
He  shall  pay  for  these  poor  fellows,  and  what  they  suffered.  There 
will  be  a  sweet  bill  of  it,  which  he  shall  foot  up  every  shilling,  or 
there  shall  be  no  peace  for  him  on  this  airth !  " 

Let  us  leave  him,  cowering  and  cursing  in  the  swamp,  and  re 
turn  to  the  partisans.  They  gave  up  the  chase  only  when  they 
found  it  no  longer  possible,  to  see.  Lance  Frampton  picked  up, 
and  brought  in,  the  outlaw's  rifle,  which  they  all  examined  closely 
in  the  hopes  to  identify  it ;  but  they  had  none  of  them  seen  it 
before  in  any  hands.  Three  letters,  evidently  initials  of  a  former 
owner's  name,  were  cut  rudely  in  the  stock. 

"M.  T.  C." 


172  WOODCRAFT. 

"Marcus  Tullius  Cicero!"  quoth  Porgy,  very  gravely. 

"Who,  captain?  I  never  heard  the  name!  Do  you  know  him?" 
was  the  simple  inquiry  of  the:  lieutenant. 

"I  ought  to;  for  I  received  many  a  flowing,  when  a  boy,  that 
I  might  become  intimate  with  him  and  the  old  fellows  lie  kept 
company  with.  And  you  may  be  sure  the  Homing  did  not  make 
me  love  him  or  them  any  better!  'Hut  T  doubt  if  cither  Marcus  or 
his  companions  owned  this  rifle.  If  they  did,  then  the  historians 
have  suppressed  many  an  interesting  fact  in  science'.  But  let  us 
push  out  of  this  -wilderness.  Lance,  and  get  into  the  open  road. 
Corporal,  see  to  the  negroes,  and  send  them  on  ahead. — Let  them 
get  wood  and  have  fire  for  us  at  least,  when  we  reach  home.  It  is 
getting  monstrous  chilly!  Yes  —  we  shall  need  a  lire,  even  more 
than  supper!" 

Supper,  indeed!  thought  Porgy.  It  was  his  philosophy  only 
which  preferred  the  lire. 

Obedience  was  now  pleasure.  The  whole  party  was  well  tired 
of  the  fruitless  pursuit,  and  all  began  to  feel  the  chilliness  of 
which  the  captain  complained.  -—  and  the  hunger  also,  of  which  he 
did  not  think  it  necessary  to  complain. 

"  See  that  the  negroes  cover  the  dead  bodies  with  leaves,  Lance, 
until  to-morrow,  when  we  must  borrow  shovels  from  Mrs.  Eve- 
leigh,  and  have  them  burricd.  The  buzzard  and  wild-cat  will 
hardly  find  them  in  one  night." 


N    TO    A    RUINED    HOMESTEAD. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

TBK    uLl)    SOLDIi-K"  RETURNS    TO    A    RUINED    HOMESTKAll. 

ALL  was  clone  as  had  been  commanded.  Tom's  world  of 
kitchen  and  camp  baggage  was  fairly  divided  among  the  ne 
groes,  all  of  whom  were  now  mounted  on  the  captured  horses  of 
ihe  outlaws,  some  of  them  riding  double.  The  dead  bodies  were 
hidden  away  beneath  the  forest  leaves  and  branches,  as  closely 
as  it  could  possibly  be  done.  The  odds  and  ends  of  the  party 
were  carefully  picked  up ;  not  a  tin  pan  suffered  to  escape  in 
quiry  ;  and,  under  the  growing  starlight,  the' negroes  took  up 
the  line  of  march,  as  a  sort  of  advance,  with  Tom,  the  cook,  for 
guide  and  leader ;  Porgy,  Frampton,  and  Millhotise  following  at 
a  less  rapid  pace.  Of  these  three,  the  two  latter  were  suffered 
to  lead  the  way,  uur  captaii  of  partisans  seeming  disposed  to 
linger  in  a  manner  that  surprised  Millhouse,  who  made  it  a  sub 
ject  of  comment  to  his  companion. 

Frampton,  through  the  sympathies  which  he  entertained  for 
his  superior,  could  well  understand  the  reason  of  his  apparent 
apathy.  Without  much  logic  or  knowledge  —  without  being 
much  a  student  of  .human  nature  —  the  genial  temper  of  Framp- 
tcr.  had  tai.gLt  Mm  to  conjecture  the  peculiar  mood  which  now 
trouj-ed  the  •  :..:tisan.  Besides,  he  had  been  enlightened  measur 
ably,  that  day,  on  the  subject  of  Porgy 's  secret  cares,  by  the 
long  conversation  between  them  which  has  been  already  reported, 
and,  through  which,  the  lieutenant  had  found  clews  to  the  cap 
tain's  nature  and  difficulties,  such  as  his  buoyant  temper  had 
never  before  suffered  him  to  betray.  That  the  latter  should 
now  hesitate  —  now  that  he  was  almost  at  his  own  threshold  — 
did  not  greatly  surprise  the  youth,  and  reawakened  all  his  sym 
pathies  for  his  chief.  He  might  well  linger  on  the  route,  loath 
to  approach  scenes  so  precious  once,  so  full  of  dear  recollections, 
but  now  so  full  of  gloomy  aspects  and  discouraging  auguries 
From  Porgy '«  own  dec'-cription,  there  could  be  no  prospect  hulf 


17  4  WOODCRAFT. 

so  cheerless  as  th.it  of  the  ancient  homestead  which  M-as  nfe*«rt  te 
receive  him.  Memory  and  thought  might  well  be  painfully  busy 
in  his  mind.  The  one  recalled  a  past  which  wjjs  full  of  sun 
shine  and  promise.  The  other  reproached  him  with  a  profligacy 
which  had  measurably  cast  fortune  from  his  arms ;  and  bitterly 
rehearsed  the  recent  history,  in  which  events  seemed  to  have 
studiously  aided  to  consummate  the  ruin  which  his  own  erring- 
youth  had  begun.  The  journey,  from  the  coinp  of  Marion,  at 
the  head  of  Cooper  river,  and  which  was  now  to  terminate  upon 
the  Ashepoo,  had  afforded  prospects,  all  along  the  route,  woli 
calculated  to  give  the  gloomiest  color  to  the  mind  of  the  observer. 
Of  this  journey,  we  can  not  afford  a  better  idea  than  to  copy 
from  Moultrie's  memoirs,  a  few  passages  descriptive  of  what 
lie  saw,  in  a  neighboring  district  of  country,  about  the  same 
period  —  in  fact,  the  preceding  summer — on  his  own  return  to 
his  estates,  which  had  suffered  in  like  manner  with  most  others. 

"  Soon  after  my  being  exchanged,"  writes  the  old  general, 
"  I  prepared  to  set  off,  with  my  family,  for  South  Carolina,  and, 
early  in  April,  left  Philadelphia,  and  arrived  at  Waccamaw,  in 
Scuth  Carolina ;  where  I  was  informed  that  General  Greene's 
army  lay  at  Ashley  river,  quite  inactive,  and  no  military  opera 
tion  going  on.  I  remained  at  Winyaw  till  late  in  September, 
at  which  time  I  paid  a  visit  to  General  Greene.  It  was  the 
most  dull,  melancholy,  dreary  ride  thai  any  one  could  possibly 
take,  of  about  one  hundred  miles,  through  the  woods  of  that 
country,  which  I  had  been  accustomed  to  see  abound  with  live 
stock,  and  wild  fowl  of  every  kind.  It  was  now  destitute  of  all. 
It  had  been  so  completely  chequered  by  the  different  armies, 
that,  not  a  part  of  it  had  been  left  unexplored ;  consequently, 
not  a  vestige  of  horses,  cattle,  hogs  or  deer,  &c.,  was  to  be. 
found.  The  squirrels  and  birds  of  every  kind  were  totally  de 
stroyed.  -The  dragoons  told  me,  that,  on  their  scouts,  no  living 
creature  was  to  be  seen,  except  a  few  camp-scavengers  (turkey- 
buzzards)  picking  the  bones  of  some  unfortunate  fellows,  who 
had  been  cut  or  shot  down,  and  left  in  the  woods  above  ground 
....  My  plantation  I  found  to  be  a  desolate  place ;  stock  of 
every  kind  taken  off;  the  furniture  carried  away,  and  my  estate 
had  been  under  sequestration." 

This  individual  picture  was  equally  true  of  all  the  country 


RETURN   TO    A    RUINED    HOMESTEAD.  175 

and  the  condition  of  Moultrie's  estate,  that  of  every  mrji  who 
had  distinguished  himself  on  either  side,  whether  for,  or  ?^ai  ist 
the  revolutionary  struggle.  Very  many  had  fared  even  wors^, 

—  their  negroes  being  wholly   carried   off,  and  their  dwelling', 
destroyed  by  fire.     Though    hut  a  captain   in   the  brigade  of 
Marion,  Porgy  had  been  honored  by  a  fair  share  of  British  bos- 
tility.     His  home,  he  knew,  had  escaped  the  torch  of  the  incen 
diary,  but  his  negroes  had  been  stolen,  and  the  plantation  utterly 
laid  waste.    We  have  already  seen  what  special  additional  causes 
of  anxiety  were  at  work  to  make  him  moody.    Debt  hung  upon 
his  fortunes  like  an  incubus;  and  he  possessed  no  conscious  re 
sources,  within  himself,  by  which  to  restore  his  property,  or  even 
to  acquire  the  means  of  life.     He  rode  forward,  gloomy  and 
comfortless,  in   spite  of  fill  his  philosophy,  scarcely  exchanging 
a  word  with  his  companions. 

Meanwhile,  his  negroes,  under  Tom's  guidance,  eager  once 
more  to  regain  their  old  homes,  sped  on,  at  a  smart  canter, 
which  soon  left  their  superiors  behind.  It  was  after  ten  o'clock 
at  night,  when  the  lights  from  a  score  of  wild,  gleaming  torches, 
wavering  in  air,  announced  the  approach  to  the  avenue  of 
"  Glen-Eberly,"  which  was  the  name  of  Porgy's  ancient  home 
stead —  so  named  after  a  goodly  grandmother  by  whom  it  had 
been  entailed  on  her  brother's  children.  Our  captain  of  parti 
sans  was  aroused  to  a  consciousness  of  external  things,  by  the 
loud  shouts  of  the  negroes  who  had  preceded  him,  and  who 
now  hailed  his  approach  after  a  fashion  such  as  Moultrie  de 
scribes  in  the  same  narrative  from  which  we  have  already 
quoted. 

"  T'ank  de  Lord,  here's  maussa  gz't  to  he  own  home  at  last! 

—  Bress  de  Lord,  Maussa,  you  come!     We  all  berry  glad  for 
see  you,  manssa  —  glad  loo  much  !" 

And  the  same  negroes  who  had  been  with  him  for  several 
hours  before,  without  so  much  as  taking  his  hand,  now  rushed 
tip  and  seized  it,  with  loud  cries,  as  if  they  were  hosts,  and  wel 
coming  a  favorite  guest.  The  tears  stood  in  the  eyes  of  our 
captain,  though  he  suffered  none  of  his  companions  to  behold 
them  ;  and  he  shook  hands  with,  and  spoke  to  them  each  in 
turn --few  words,  indeed,  but  they  were  uttered  tremulously 
and  rn  low  tones. 


170  WOODCRAFT. 

.Fordham,  the  overseer  of  Mrs.  Eveleigh,  now  made  his  ap 
pearance  from  the  house.  The  wagon  had  departed,  having 
left  the  supplies  as  the  good  widow  had  ordered.  Porgy  en 
tered  his  house  expecting  to  find  it  empty  and  cheerless.  lie 
was  gratefully  confounded  to  see  the  goods,  blankets,  drink, 
provisions,  all  around  the  hall,  and  shown  to  the  best  advantage 
under  the  ruddy  gleams  of  a  rousing  fire  in  the  chimney. 

"Ah  !"  said  he,  "  Fordham,  Mrs.  Eveleigh  is  a  very  noble  lady. 
Make  her  my  best  respects  and  thanks.  I  shall  soon  ride  over 
and  make  them  in  person." 

"  Well,  my  friends,"  said  he  to  Frampton  and  Millliouse,  when 
Fordham  had  departed,  "  I  felt  doubtful  how  to  provide  you 
your  supper  to-night ;  though,  knowing  this  excellent  lady  as  1 
did,  I  should  not  have  doubted  that  she  would  contribute  largely 
to  it.  See  what  she  has  done !  Here  are  sugar  and  coffee ; 
here  are  meal  and  bacon;  here  is  a  cheese;  here  —  but  look 
about  you,  and  say  what  we  shall  have  for  supper.  Supper  we 
must  have  !  I  am  famishing.  Torn  !  Tom  !  where  the  d — 1 
is  that  fellow  !  Does  he  think  that  he's  free  of  me,  because  he's 
free  of  the  army  1  —  Tom  !  Tom  !" 

"  Sah  !  yer,  maussa  !  Wha'  de  debbil  mek'  [makes]  you  hol 
ler  so  loud,  maussa,  when  I's  jis'  [just]  at  your  elbow  1  Yon 
t'ink  I  hard  o'  hearing,  'cause  I  got  hard  maussa,  I  'spose !" 

"  Hard  maussa,  you  impertinent  scamp  !  Another  master 
would  have  roasted  you  alive  long  before  this.  See,  and  let  us 
have  something,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  Look  among  these 
provisions,  that  Mrs.  Eveleigh  has  sent  us,  and  take  out  enough 
to  give  us  all  a  good  feed  —  niggers  and  all!" 

"  Miss  Ebleigh  !  He's  a  bressed  [blessed]  woman,  for  sartin, 
for  sen'  we  all  sich  good  t'ings ;  de  berry  t'ings  we  bin  want ; 
and  jis'  when  we  want  'ern.  He's  a  mos'  'spectable  pusson,  i» 
dat  Miss  Ebleigh.  Ki !  He's  a'mos'  [almost]  ebbry  t'ing  for 
ge?tt/;leman  supper !  Kah,  me  !  dis  da  cheese,  in  dis  tub  ! 
Pomp,  you  son  ob  a  snail !  why  you  day  1  Yer !  [here]  open 
dem  bundle  wha'  b'long  to  me,  in  de  piazza !  bring  fanner  [a 
shallow  winnowing  basket]  and  bring  bucket  you  will  se  day 
[there].  Hab  out  de  free  knife  and  de  four  fork,  for  "10*  . 
when  he  got  comp'ny.  See  a'ter  de  hom'ny  pot ;  and  ae  coifee- 
pot ;  and  look  up  some  water  for  wash  dem !  Dere's  no 


RETURN    TO    A     KUIXKO    UDMEHTKAD.  177 

kitchen,  inaussa  ;  he  all  bu'n  down.  We  hub  for  cook  de  sup 
per  in  ilo,  house,  yer,  or,  ma  vim,  wo  kin  find  fireplace  down 
stairs  in  de  brick  part.  Go  see,  Pomp  —  and  Pomp,  sen'  out 
some  of  dem  merger  for  git  lightwood,  and  bring  water  and  udder 
t'ings." 

We  allow  Tom  to  be  thus  prolix,  not  simply  because  he  was 
so  permitted  by  his  master,  but  as  he  gives  us  a  very  correct 
idea  of  the  condition  of  household  affairs.  The  kitchen,  as  he 
states,  was  destroyed  ;  the  cooking  was  finally  decreed  to  lie 
carried  on  in  the  brick  basement  of  the  house  hereafter,  but,  for 
this  night.  Tom  made  free  with  the  fireplace  of  the  salle  a  man 
ger.  The  house  was  an  ample  one,  of  wood,  on  a  brick  base 
ment.  But  it  had  been  completely  gutted.  There  was  neither 
table  nor  chair  ;  and  our  friends  couched  themselves  upon  the 
blankets  of  Mrs.  Eveleigh,  spread  about  the  fireplace ;  and, 
accustomed  as  they  had  been  to  still  harder,  if  not  humbler 
seats,  upon  the  naked  ground,  were  not  seriously  conscious  of 
any  privations.  Thus  sitting,  or  reclining,  they  waited  in  com 
parative'  silence  the  preparations  which  Tom  was  making  for 
supper. 

That  sable  kitchen-despot  had  found  employment  for  all  the 
negroes,  Pompey  acting  as  a  sort  of  lieutenant  or  orderly. 
Water  and  wood,  in  any  quantity,  were  soon  provided.  Soon, 
the  hominy  was  set  to  boil ;  the  coffee-pot  began  to  smoko,  ; 
while  the  "hoe"  and  "johnny"  cakes,  spread  upon  sections  of 
barrel  heads,  four  or  five  in  number,  were  seen  facing  the  now 
brightly  blazing  fire.  The  chimney-place  of  the  dining-room, 
though  not  quite  so  ample  as  that  of  a  Southern  plantation 
kitchen,  was  yet  one  of  sufficiently  large  dimensions.  What 
with  the  hominy  and  coffee-pots,  the  bread  staffs,  and  the  frying- 
oan,  hissing  with  broad  but  tender  slices  of  ham  —  which  the 
,'ork  of  the  grand  cuisinier  shifted  from  side  to  side,  as  the 
occasion  seemed  to  require  —  there  Avas  little  space  left  in  the 
premises,  and  no  room  suffered  near  them  for  mere  idlers :  in 
vhic)*  rank,  at  this  moment,  we  may  consider  the  captain,  him 
self,  and  his  two  companions  in  arms.  But  the  fire  was  sufficient 
to  warm  the  room,  the  shutters  being  closed  in,  though  there 
was  not  a  pane  of  glass  left  in  one  of  the  sashes.  If  the  whites 
nf  the  group  were  silent,  Tom  was  not.  The  benefactions  of 

8* 


178  WOODCRAFT. 

Mrs.  Evcleigh  afforded  him  an  ample  theme  for  talk  ;  and,  while 
he  stirred  the  hominy,  and  turned  the  ham  and  the  hoe  cakes, 
and  pushed  up  the  fire  —  keeping  Pompey  busy  all  the  while  — 
lie  maintained  a  running  commentary  on  the  blessings  of  life  in 
the  neighborhood  of  such  an  excellent  woman  — a  woman  so 
well  conversant  with  her  duties  to  her  neighbors. 

"  Dis  is  fus'  [first]  rate  oh.  bacon,  maussa,  dat  Miss  Ebleigli 
:\\\  sen'  we  !  And  tic  grits  [grist]  is  de  bes'  flint ;  an'  dis  flour 
b  white  like  snow ;  and  sich  a  bowl  of  coffee,  as  I  guine  gibe 
you  to-night,  wid  sich  sugar,  you  ain't  bin  see  dis  fi/;e,  free,  se&en 
years,  maussa  !  Lord  be  praise,  for  all  he  mussies  !  When  I  bin 
riding  'long  yer  to-night,  coming  to  we  ole  home,  I  bin  say  to 
myself,  all  'long  de  way,  wha'  de  debbil  we  guine  fin'  home  yer 
for  supper  to-night !  Enty  I  know,  clem  d — n  British  and 
tory  bin  skin  de  plantation  ob  ebbry  t'ing  ?  Hah  !  I  say,  der' 
will  be  heap  o'  growling  'tomachs  yer  to-night !  An'  I  t'ink  of 
de  cole  [cold]  and  de  starbation,  'till  I  begin  to  slubber  all  ober 
like  new  sodger,  jis  when  de  inimy  begin  for  shoot !  But,  de 
Lord  be  praise  !  Der's  no  cole,  der's  no  'tarbation  !  Yer's 
ebbry  t'ing  for  las'  we  niggars,  and  you  gemplemens  mos'  free 
week!" 

Tom  had  calculated  nicely,  as  well  as  an  experienced  com 
missariat  could  have  done.  He  had  an  eye  to  a  man's  dimen 
sions.  He  continued: — 

"  Time  'nough  free  week  from  now  to  consideration  how  for 
git  more  supper :  and  der's  no  knowing  wha'  guine  tu'n  [turnj 
up,  in  dat  time,  for  gib  as  more  hoin'ny  and  bacon.  De  Lord  is 
wid  us !  An'  maussa,  you  ain't  bin  see  dis  bag  o'  rice,  a  good 
bushel  I  reckon,  dat  Miss  Ebleigh  bin  sen'  wid  dem  udder  fings. 
Hab  a  pot  o'  rice  to-morrow  !" 

Tom,  when  he  declared  it  time  enough  to  consider  how  to  pro 
cure  more  food  when  the  present  supplies  were  fairly  exhausted, 
dealt  in  genuine  negro  philosophy.  Sambo  seldom  troubles 
himself  to  look  out  for  the  morrow.  His  doctrine  somewhat 
tallied  with  that  of  Scripture.  Instead  of — "sufficient  for  the 
day,  the  evil  thereof,"  he  read,  "  sufficient  for  the  day,  the 
good  thereof."  Foresight  and  forethought  are  his  remarkable 
deficiencies.  Hr,  never  houses  his  harvest  in  anticipation  of  the 
storm. 


HOW   A   SUPPER   MAY   TAKE   AWAY   AN   APPETITE. 

There  was  one  virtue  in  Tom's  philosophies.  They  neve. 
embarrassed  or  delayed  him,  in  his  duties  and  performances 
.'ii id  it  was  not  very  long  before  he  made  the  grateful  annuncia 
lion  to  the  hungering  troopers  that  supper  was  ready  to  be  served 
Then  followed  the  bustle.  Then  was  Pomp  conspicuous  afj 
head  waiter,  while  Tom,  as  if  satisfied  with  his  share  of  the 
performance,  already  executed,  drew  up  a  keg  to  the  fireside, 
and  leisurely  seated  himself  as  a  spectator  —  ready  to  take  up 
tho,  smoking  dishes  from  the  fire  as  soon  as  the  cloth  should  be 
spread  to  receive  them ;  but  in  no  other  way  interested  in  the 
performance !  ^^ 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

HOW  A  SUPPER  MAY  TAKE  AWAY  A  DRAGOON'S  APPETITE. 

"  WHY  you  no  spread  de  table-clot',  Pomp  ?"  was  the  snappish 
demand  of  Tom,  seeing  the  other  hesitate. 

"  I  no  see  no  clot'  uncle  Tom,"  replied  the  bewildered  fiddler. 

"  Enty  blanket  is  clot',  you  son  ob  a  skunk !  Is  you  lib  so 
long  in  de  worP,  dat  you  neber  Parn  wha'  one  t'ing  is,  and  wha' 
nodder  t'ing  is  —  wha'  is  wood,  and  wha'  is  clot' !  I  reckon,  boy, 
when  we  calls  you  to  eat  you'  own  supper,  you  wunt  ax  ef  it's 
dut  [dirt]  you  urns'  eat,  or  hom'ny." 

Pomp,  humbled  by  his  rebuke,  possessed  himself  of  one  of 
the  blankets,  from  the  pile  sent  by  the  widow,  but  he  still  stood 
vacantly  looking  about  the  apartment. 

"  Well,"  quoth  our  major  domo,  "  wha'  you  'tan'  [stand]  forf 
sucking  in  de  whole  room  wid  your  eyes?" 

"  I  no  see  any  table,  uncle  Tom  !" 

"  Don't  you  uncle  me,  you  chucklehead  !  Lay  de  table  on 
de  floor '  Who  could  b'lieb  dat  a  pusson  could  lib  so  long  and 
grow  so  big,  and  nebber  Parn  nutting !  Ha !  boy,  you  bin  in 
de  army,  you'd  ha'  Parn  all  sort  of  t'ing  at  de  sharp  p'int  ob  de 
baggnet !  De  army's  de  place  for  mek'  man  ob  senne  out  ob 
fool.  Ax  de  gempleman's  to  git  out  ob  de  way,  so  you  kin 


£80 

spread  de   ;able-clot';    dough   gemplemacs  ought  to  liab  sense 
'nough,  hese'f,  for  moob  [move]  widout  axing!" 

"Hear  that  impudent  rascal!"  quoth  Porgy,  moving  good- 
naturedly,  his  example  followed  by  Frampton  and  Millhouse 
i4  Was  ever  fellow  so  completely  spoiled  ?" 

"  I  nebber  spile  supper,  maussa  !"  responded  Tom,  with  a  toss 
of  the  head,  as  if  to  say  —  "nobody  knows  my  qualities  better 
than  yourself." 

"No,  indeed,  Tom,  and  you  presume  on  your  merits,  some 
what  to  their  injury ;  but  you  will  be  taken  down,  you  scawip, 
when  you  are  retired  to  find  and  hunt  up  the  supper,  as  -well 
as  cook  it." 

"Ha!  but  you  see,  maussa,  my  business  is  cook  —  I  knows 
um  !  It's  maussa  business  to  fin'  de  bittle  [victuals].  Put  de 
meat  and  bread  yer,  whay  I  kin  put  out  my  han'  and  git  'em, 
leff  it  to  me  to  hab  'em  ready  for  eat ;  but  da's  all  I  nab  a  right 
for  do." 

"  Ah  !  indeed,  my  buck ;  but  I'll  persuade  you,  at  the  end  of 
a  hickory,  that  you  have  other  rights." 

"  Wha'  maussa  ;  hick'ry  for  Tom  !  Nebber  !  Anybody  elp^ 
bin  tell  me  sich  a  t'ing,  I  say,  widout  guine  to  be  sassy  — '  he's 
a  d — n  fool  for  he  trouble.' " 

"Hear  the  fellow!  Sergeant,  do  you  want  a  negro — a 
cook  '<" 

"  I'll  thank  you,  cappin,  very  much.  Tom  and  myself  agree 
very  well  together.  I  like  his  fries  monstrous." 

"You  shall  have  him  —  when  I'm  done  with  him." 

"  You  nebber  guine  done  wid  Tom,  maussa !  I  'tick  to  you 
ebbrywhere  ;  you  comp'ny  good  'nough  for  Tom  in  any  country, 
no  matter  whay  you  go." 

"  Thank  you,  Tom ;  but  Tom,  if  you  don't  clap  a  hot  iron  10 
Pomp's  haunches,  he'll  never  have  supper  on  table  to-night." 

"De  boy  will  be  de  deaf  ob  me!"  cried  Tom,  starting  up, 
and  administering  a  sudden  whack  to  the  ear  of  Pomp,  with  the 
flat  of  an  amazingly  rough  hand.  The  lad  reeled  under  the 
salutation.  Pompey  was  more  dexterous  at  the  violin,  than  in 
the  capacity  of  a  house-servant.  He  had  no  idea  of  the  noveJ 
duties  he  was  required  to  perform  ;  and,  jerking  him  by  the  col 
lar  to  the  fireplace,  Tom  clapped  the  several  dishes  into  his  hand 


HOW  A  SUPPER  MAY  TAKE  AWAY  AN  APPETITE.         181 

and  proceeded,  with  the  expertness  of  a  veteran,  to  guide  -very- 
thing  to  its  proper  place.  Under  his  administration,  the  taMe 
was  soon  spread. 

"Now  you  see,  boy,  how  de  t'ing  is  done.  'Member  n;.x' 
time,  or  you'll  see  sights  ob  hickory,  wid  de  twigs  all  grow- 
in*  downwards.  Now,  tell  de  gemplemans  dat  supper  is 
a-waitin'." 

And  Tom  resumed  his  seat  upon  the  keg  by  the  fire.  Pomp 
made  the  necessary  signals,  after  a  fashion  of  his  own,  and 
Porgy,  letting  himself  down  upon  one  corner  of  the  blanket, 
which  served  as  a  table-cloth,  invited  his  comrades  in  war  to 
follow  his  example.  They  did  not  wait  for  a 'second  invitation, 
but  grouped  themselves  about  the  lowly  board,  occupying  oppo 
site  places.  Tom  flung  some  fresh  brands  into  the  fire,  which 
blazed  up  ruddily,  throwing  a  strong  light  over  the  great  hall, 
and  showing,  picturesquely,  the  group  upon  the  floor,  with  Pomp 
in  waiting,  and  several  sooty  faces  peering  in  through  one  of 
the  windows — from  which  a  shutter  had  been  torn — opening 
upon  the  piazza. 

The  equipments  of  the  board  were  quite  as  picturesque  as  the 
group  around  them.  The  crockery  closet  of  Captain  Porgy 
being  utterly  empty,  the  hominy-pot,  black  and  smoking  as  it 
was,  had  been  lifted  bodily  from  the  fire,  and  now  stood  in  the 
centre,  resting  upon  a  barrel-head,  into  which  its  three  legs 
burned  regular  sockets.  A  pewter  spoon  was  employed  to  scoop 
up  its  white  and  well-boiled  contents.  The  coffee-pot,  a  bat 
tered  vessel  that  had  been  in  the  wars,  occupied  a  similar  rest 
ing-place  j  while  the  fried  bacon  was  handed  round,  by  Pomp, 
to  the  several  parties  in  a  huge  frying-pan,  in  which  it  had  been 
"  done  to  a  turn."  This  vessel  bore  proof,  also,  of  serious  ser 
vice,  having  more  than  one  flaw  in  the  sides,  while  one  half  of 
the  handle  had  been  carried  away  in  actual  conflict  with  the 
keen  sabre  of  a  British  dragoon.  The  partisans  helped  them 
selves  to  meat  and  gravy,  in  turn,  from  this  sooty  vessel,  which 
was  then  restored  to  the  fireplace,  the  better  to  keep  warm  the 
residue  of  the  bacon.  The  hoe-cake,  broken  into  good-sized 
bits,  was  placed  upon  another  section  of  a  barrel-head,  by  the 
Imnds  of  Porgy  himself.  At  the  side  of  each  stood  his  tin  cup 
wioking  with  coffee,  while  the  top  of  the  coffee-pot  was  en> 


182  WOODCRAFT. 

ployed  to  hold  sugar,  and  stood,  conveniently  far  the  use.  of  <ui, 
in  the  centre  of  the  group. 

Tli us  served,  our  partisans  were  by  no  means  slow  in  tholr 
performances  The  edge  of  appetite  was  keen.  They  worked 
vigorously.  The  taste  of  the  meats  improved  tne  moods  of  all 
parties,  and  opened  hearts  as  well  as  jaws.  The  fullness  of  the 
mouth  prompted  the  heart  to  speech  ;  and,  in  the  enjoyment  of 
tilings  of  the  flesh,  Porgy  soon  began  to  forget  the  anxieties* 
of  the  spirit.  He  smacked  his  lips  over  the  luscious  ham. 
exclaiming :  — 

"This  may  be  called  good,  Tern — very  good:  in  fact,  1 
never  tasted  better.  You  have  certainly  lost  none  of  your  tal 
ent  in  consequence  of  your  leaving  the  army." 

"  I  bin  good  cook  'fore  I  ebber  see  de  army." 

"  So  you  were,  Tom ;  but  your  taste  was  matured  in  the 
army ;  particularly  on  the  Pedee.  But  you  were  better  at  a 
broil,  I  think,  before  the  war." 

"  Tom's  jest  as  good,  I'm  a-thinking,  at  a  fry  as  at  a  brile, 
cappin,"  quoth  Millhouse,  licking  his  chaps,  while  elevating  a 
huge  slice  of  his  bacon  into  sight,  upon  the  prongs  of  his  fork. 

"  An'  why  you  no  say  bile,  too,  Mass  Millh'us'  ?"  demanded 
Tom,  apparently  not  satisfied  that  there  should  be  any  implied 
demerits  in  his  case. 

"  En  [and]  so  I  mout  [might],"  answered  the  sergeant.  "  This 
here  hominy  now,  to  my  thinking,  is  biled  to  a  monstrous  softness." 

"  An'  de  bake  —  de  bread  —  wha'  you  say  for  him?"  was  the 
next  exaction  of 'Tom's  vanity;  and  he  handed  up,  as  he  que 
ried,  a  fresh  supply,  from  the  fire,  of  a  wisp,  well-browned 
"Johnny-cake"  —  an  article,  by  the  way,  which  is  too  often 
served  up,  of  most  villanous  manufacture,  particularly  at  i 
nodcrn  barbecue ;  but  which,  in  those  days,  might  usually  be 
.'omm  ended,  and  which,  in  Tom's  hands,  was  an  achievement  — 
\  chef-d1 '(suvre  of  kitchen  art. 

"  Well,  Tom,  I  kin  say  with  a  mighty  cl'ar  conscience,  that 
this  is  raal,  gennywine  bread.  I  only  wish  Miss  Ebeleigh  was 
here  now,  herself,  jest  to  try  a  taste  of  it." 

"Ha!"  quoth  Tom,  heaving  up  —  "I  'speck  [expect]  ef  he 
bin  yer,  he  would  nebber  le*  maussa  res',  tell  he  beg  me  from 
era  He  would  want  you  to  gib  me  to  um,  I  tell  y?tt,  mauasa  I" 


HOW  A  SUPPER  MAY  TAKE  AWAY  AX  AT  PETITE,          188 

Give  you,  Tom  !  Give  you  to  anybody  ?  No  !  no  !  old  fel 
low  !  I  will  neither  give  you,  nor  sell  you,  nor  suffer  you  to  be 
taken  from  me  in  any  way,  by  Saint  Shadrach  !  who  was  your 
blessed  father  in  the  flesh,  and  from  whom  you  inherit  your 
peculiar  genius  for  the  kitchen  !  Nothing  but  death  shall  ever 
part  us,  and  even  deatli  shall  not  if  I  can  help  it.  When  I  die, 
you  shall  be  buried  with  me.  '  We  have  fought  and  fed  too  long 
together,  Tom,  and  I  trust  we  love  each  other  quite  too  well,  to 
submit  to  separation.  When  your  kitchen  fire  grows -cold,  Tom, 
I  shall  cease  to  eat ;  and  you,  Tom,  will  not  have  breath  enough 
to  blow  up  the  fire  when  mine  is  out !  I  shall  fight  for  you  to 
th(  last,  Tom,  and  you,  I  know,  would  fight  to  the  last  for  me 
as  I  am  very  sure  that  neither  of  us  can  long  outlast  the  other/ 
"  Fight  for  you,  maussa !  Ha !  Jes'  le'  dem  tory  try  we. 
maussa!"  responded  Tom,  quite  excited,  and  shaking  his  head 
with  a  dire  significance.  But  Tom  did  not  exactly  conceive  the 
tenor  of  his  master's  speech,  or  the  direction  of  his  thoughts.  ITe 
did  not  conjecture  that  the  earnestness  with  which  the  latter 
spoke,  had  its  origin  in  his  recent  meditations ;  and  these  had 
regard  to  civil  rather  than  military  dangers  —  to  the  claws  of 
the  sheriff,  rather  than  tory  weapons !  Once  on  this  track, 
Povgy  found  relief  in  continuing,  and  in  making  himself  better 
understood. 

"  They  shall  take  none  of  you  negroes,  if  I  can  help  it !     But 

they  shall  take  all  before  they  touch  a  hair  of  your  head,  Tom  !" 

*'  Da's  it,  maussa  !     I  know  you  nebber  guine  part  wid  Tom  !" 

"  Before  they  shall  tear  you  from  me,  Tom " 

"  Day  ftheyj  can't  begin  to  come  it,  maussa !  I  'tick  to  you. 
maussa,  so  long  as  fire  bu'n  !" 

"  But,  it  might  be,  Tom  ;  the  time  might  come  ;  circumstances 
might  arise  ;  events  might  happen  ;  1  might  be  absent,  or  una« 
ble ,  and  then,  you  might  fall  into  the  clutches  of  some  of  the.so 
(1 d  harpies,  who  take  a  malignant  pleasure  in  making  peo 
ple  uncomfortable.  You  have  heard,  Tom,  of  such  an  animal 
as  a  sheriff,  or  sheriff's  deputy  ?" 

*'  Enty  I  know  ?  He's  a  sort  of  warmint !  I  knows  'eir 
well !  He  come  into  de  hen-house,  cut  chicken  t'roat,  drink  <?f 
blood,  ar  I  suck  all  do  eggs !  I  know  'em,  for  sartain !  T^f 
him?' 


184  WOODCRAFT. 

"  Yes,  they  are  blood-suckers,  and  egg-suckers,  aiid  throat- 
cutters —  that's  true,  Tom;  vermin  of  the  worst  sort:  but  they 
still  come  in  the  shape  of  human  beings.  They  are  men  aftei 
a  fashion  ;  men-weasels,  verily,  and  they  do  the  work  of  beasts ! 
You  will  know  them  by  their  sly  looks ;  their  skulkings,  peep- 
ings,  watchings,  and  the  snares  they  lay ;  by  the  great  papers, 
with  great  seals,  that  they  cany ;  and  by  their  calling  them- 
selves  sheriffs  or  constables,  and  speaking  big  about  justice  as 
the  law.  If  any  of  you  negroes  happen  to  see  any  such  lurking 
about  the  plantation,  or  within  five  miles,  let  me  know.  Don'i 
let  them  lay  hands  on  you,  but  make  for  the  swamp,  the  mo 
rnent  they  tell  you  '  stop.'  You,  Tom,  in  particular,  beware  of 
all  such  !  Should  they  succeed  in  taking  you,  Tom  —  should  J 
not  be  able  to  help  you  —  should  you  find  them  carrying  you  oft, 
•  to  the  city  or  elsewhere,  to  sell  you  to  some  other  master " 

"  Gor-a-mighty  !  rnaussa,  wha'  for  you  scare  me  so,  finking 
ob  sich  t'ings  ?" 

"  Tom  !  sooner  than  have  you  taken  off  by  these  vermin,  I 
will  shoot  you !" 

"  Me  !  shoot  me  !  me,  Tom  !     Shoot  me,  maussa !" 

"  Yes,  Tom  !  you  shall  never  leave  me.  I  will  put  a  brace 
of  bullets  through  your  abdomen,  Tom,  sooner  than  lose  you ! 
13ut,  it  may  be,  that  I  shall  not  have  the  opportunity.  They 
may  take  advantage  of  my  absence  —  they  may  steal  you  away 
—  coming  on  you  by  surprise.  If  they  should  do  so,  Tom,  I 
\J  rely  upon  you  to  put  yourself  to  death,  sooner  than  abandon  me 
and  become  the  slave  of  another.  Kill  yourself,  Tom,  rather 
than  let  them  carry  you  off.  Put  your  knife  into  your  ribs,  any 
where,  three  inches  deep,  and  you  will  effectually  baffle  the 
blood-hounds  !" 

u Wha',  me,  maussa !  kill  mese'f!  Me,  Tom!  'Tick  knife 
!'ree  inch  in  me  rib,  and  dead !  Nebber,  in  dis  vorP  [world] 
maussa  !  I  no  want  for  dead !  I  always  good  for  cook !  I 
good  for  fight  —  good  for  heap  o' t'ing  in  dis  life!  No  good 
'nough  for  dead,  manssa !  No  want  for  dead  so  long  as  der's 
plenty  ob  bile,  and  bvile,  and  bake,  and  fry,  for  go  sleep  'poii 
D-n't  talk  ob  sich  t'ing,  maussa,  jis'  now,  when  de  time  is  'mo? 
[almost]  come  for  me  cat  supper!'' 

*'  Tom  !"  exclaimed  the  captain  of  partisans,  laying  down  hi* 


HOW  A  SUPPER  MAY   TAKE  AWAY  AN  APPETITE. 

knife  and  fork,  and  looking  solemnly  and  sternly  at  the  negro  — 
u  I  thought  you  were  more  of  a  man  —  that  you  had  more  affec 
tion  for  me  Is  it  possible  that  you  could  wish  to  live,  if  sepa 
rated  from  me  1  Impossible,  Tom  !  I  will  never  believe  it. 
No,  boy,  you  shall  never  leave  me.  We  shall  never  part.  Y^u 
shall  be  my  cook,  after  death,  in  future  worlds,  even  as  you  are 
aerc.  Should  you  suffer  yourself  to  survive  me,  Tom  —  should 
you  be  so  hard-hearted  —  I  will  haunt  you  at  meal-time  always. 
Breakfast,  dinner,  supper — at  every  meal  —  you  shall  hear  my 
voice.  I  will  sit  before  you  as  soon  as  the  broil  is  ready,  and 
you  shall  always  help  me  first !" 

The  negro  looked  aghast.     Porgy  nodded  his  head  solemnly 

"  Remember !  It  shall  be  as  I  have  said.  If  you  are  not 
./epared  to  bury  yourself  in  the  same  grave  with  me  when  1 
lie,  I  shall  be  with  you  in  spirit,  if  not  in  flesh ;  and  I  shall 
jiake  you  cook  for  me  as  now.  At  breakfast  you  will  hear  me 
call  out  for  ham  and  eggs,  or  a  steak ;  at  dinner,  perhaps,  for  a 
terrapin  stew;  at  supper,  Tom  —  when  all  is  dark  and  dreary, 
xnd  there  is  nobody  but  yourself  beside  the  fire  —  I  shall  cry 
out,  at  your  elbow,  'My  coffee,  Tom!'  in  a  voice  that  shall 
jhake  the  very  house  !" 

"  Oh,  maussa  !  nebbcr  say  sich  t'ing  !  Ef  you  promise  sich 
Ting,  you  hab  for  come  !" 

"To  be  sure;  —  so  you  see  what  you  have  to  expect  if  you 
daic  to  survive  me  !" 

Tom  turned  gloomily  to  the  fire?' not  a  little  bewildered.  The 
bravest  negro  is  the  slave  of  superstitious  fancies,  and  Tom  was 
a  devout  believer  in  ghosts,  and  quite  famous  in  the  kitchen  lor 
his  own  ghost  experience. 

"  But  to  your  own  supper  now,  with  what  appetite  you  may, 
and  see  that  you  feed  the  other  negroes.  I  see  that  we  have  all 
supped." 

"  Lor'-a-mighty,  maussa,  you  tek*  'way  nil  me  appetite  for 
supper." 

"You  will  soon  enough  find  it,  I  fancy,"  quoth  Porgy,  coolly, 
as  he  lighted  his  pipe.  Millhouse  followed  the  example,  and, 
accompanied  by  Lieutenant  Frampton,  the  two  adjourned  to  the 
piazza,  leaving  the  field  to  the  negroes,  who,  at  a  given  signal, 
mshed  eagerly  in  to  the  feast 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

MILLHOUSE    DISCLSSES   THE   POLICfc     )F    CAPTATi\ 
PORGV. 

IT  has  been  said  that  the  homestead  of  the  eld  soldier  wa* 
entirely  swept,  of  furniture  In  emerging  from  the  hall  to  the 
p'azza,  Porgy  and  his  followers  were  without  a  chair  upon  which 
to  sit.  They  paced  the  piazza,  accordingly,  puffing  as  they 
wt-nt.  The  floor  of  it  shook  beneath  their  steps.  It  needed 
repair.  The  bannisters  were  gone.  The  boards  were  half 
decayed.  The  s^eps  by  which  they  ascended  to  the  house 
were  ticklish  to  the  last  degree,"  to  employ  the  phrase  of 
Porgy  himself.  The  latter  paused  in  his  paces. 

"  This  won'  do/"  said  he.  "  To  smoke  is  to  contemplate. 
Contestation  implies  calm,  repose,  and  an  easy  position  for  the 
body.  With  the  pipe,  in  my  mouth  I  must  sit  or  lie.  Let  us 
f  ,  ^tit  and  sit  by  that  fire,  boys." 

The  negroes  had  kindled  a  fire  within  fifty  feet  of  the  house, 
and  on  one  side  of  the  avemi«.  It  was  the  customary  camp- 
fire  to  the  old  .soldiers,  and  tkfetc  was  no  reluctance  Iceland  or 
felt  to  the  proposition  cf  the  captair  of  partisans.  Jle  led  tl-e 
way,  accordingly,  and,  with  a  grunt  and  some  effort,  hit  himself 
down  beside  the  blaze.  New  brands  were  supplied  by  Framp- 
ton.  and  himself  and  Millhoiise  subsided  upon  the  ground  also, 
ac  respectful  distances  from  their  superior.  Here  they  crouched 
for  a  while.  Supper  had  done  its  work,  in  inducing  a  certain 
f"  «i3ing  of  sluggishness.  Change  of  circun? 7'aiice  was  productive 
'ilst  eft  mood  which  inclined  rather  to  musing  than  to  speech 
The  thoughts  of  all  were  more  or  less*  busy.  The  subject  of 
Porgy's  speculations  may  be  easily  conjectured.  Those  of 
Millhoiise  ara  not  less  easily  definable,  b^t  they  involved  few 
anxieties  on  his  own  account.  I  ance  Franipton  was  a  young 
lover,  who  felt  every  bou\-  an  age  which  xept  hiw  away 


MILLUOUSE    DISCUSSES   THE    POLICY    OJ-    PORGT.  181 

ins  rustic  beauty.  Of  course  his  head  and  heart  were  filled  with 
her  image.  Not  that  he  had  not  other  thoughts  more  proper  u. 
his  immediate  associations.  His  was  a  spirit  of  generous  sym 
pathies,  and,  spite  of  all  Porgy's  selfishness  of  character,  the 
young  man,  through  an  intercourse  of  three  years,  had  learned 
to  love  and  honor  him  for  the  really  good  points  in  his  nrHire  in 
spite  of  :tg  egotism.  He  mused  quite  as  much  upon  the  foi  runes 
of  his  superior  as  upon  his  own. 

For  a  time,  accordingly,  all  were  busy  brooding  each  after  his 
own  fashion,  and  all  silent.  The  pipes  sent  forth  their  volumes, 
adding  not  -i  little  to  the  cloudy  atmosphere  by  which  they  were 
surrounded.  The  night  was  dark  and  raw,  without  being  really 
cold.  The  winds  were  low,  and  faintly  sighed  through  the  too 
scanty  bit  of  wood  which  lay  between  our  group  and  the  north. 
The  prospect  promised  rain  by  morning.  The  weight  of  the 
atmosphere  was  felt,  and,  pressing  back  the  smokes  of  the  fire, 
kept  the  party  onveloped  in  a  white  shroud  of  mist  and  vapor. 
A  melancholy  stillness  overspread  the  scene,  and  the  ear  felt 
oppressed,  as  tvell  as  the  eye,  by  the  uniform  absence  of  all 
provocation  from  without.  Not  a  star  was  to  be  seen.  A  solid 
wall  seemed  to  shut  in  the  circle  within  thirty  yards  ;  and  inside 
of  this  circuit  nothing  was  visible  but  the  skeleton  outlines  of  the 
••ees,  and  the  vague,  faint  white  of  the  dwelling-house.  Our 
;arty  felt  the  gloom  of  the  prospect.  The  captain  and  sergeant 
puffed,  with  all  their  vigor,  and  very  soon  replenished  their  pipes. 
The  former  at  length  broke  silence. 

"  We  are  to  have  rain  by  the  morning ;  but  this  must  not  prc 
Tjrfmt  us  from  putting  those  rascals  out  of  sight"  —  (meaning  the 
uw.uws  who  had  been  slain).  "You  must  give  instructions, 
Lance,  *\  one  of  the  negroes,  to  set  off  by  daylight  to  Mrs.  Eve- 
Ifligh,  and  borrow  spades  and  shovels,  or  hoes,  for  the  purpose 
of  burying  th t-.m.  I  doubt  if  such  things  are  to  be  found  any 
where  on  this  place.  After  that,  Lance,  I  suspect  you  will  de 
sire  to  ride  over  and  visit  the  widow  Griffin.  It  will  be  a  day's 
visit  only,  I  suspect,  and  you  will  be  back  at  night.  But  that's 
just  as  you  and  they  think  proper.  Of  course,  you  know,  my 
boy,  that  so  long  as  I  have  house-room  and  enough  for  supper 
you  shall  share  it.  When  you  are  married,  you  shall  still  do  *> 
Y ou  please.  You  may  bring  your  wife  here,  if  it  suits  you.  aup 


\VUODCKAFT. 

her  mother  too.  At  all  events,  here  is  your  home,  so  long  as  h 
is  mine." 

"  Thank  you,  kindly,  captain ;  and  I  hope  you'll  keep  youi 
plantation  for  ever.  I  expect  to  work  for  you  here  uivil  I'm 
married,  and  after  that  we'll  see.  I  reckon  Mrs.  Griffin  will 
want  Ellen  and  ine  to  live  wi£  ner  when  we  are  married,  and 
to  manage  her  little  place/' 

"  That  is,  if  she  herself  does  not  marry." 

"  Oh  !  I  don't  think  she's  going  to  do  that.  She  was  mighty 
fond  of  her  husband." 

"  Y-e-s !"  quoth  Porgy,  taking  out  his  pipe,  and  emptying  tli<* 
ashes.  "Y-e-s !  it  may  be  so — and  yet  the  widow  is  tolerably 
/oung,  fresh,  and  good-looking.  A  dead  husband  is  of  no  sort 
/>f  use  in  this  world,  and  that  is  the  present  question.  When  I 
have  smoked  out  my  pipe,  and  emptied  the  ashes,  I  am  apt, 
after  a  little  pause,  to  fill  it  with  fresh  tobacco.  He  who  has 
smoked  one  pipe,  will  be  apt  to  try  another,  and  another,  as 
long  as  he  can  smoke.  That  is,  if  the  first  has  not  sickened  him, 
That  the  widoAv  has  found  one  husband  grateful,  is  good  reason 
why  she  should  try  another.  Mrs.  Griffin  is  a  woman  of  sense, 
and  has  too  many  good  qualities  to  remain  single.  She  is  a 
good  housekeeper — everything  is  in  trim  about  her.  She  takes 
care  of  everything,  and  herself  neat.  Besides,- she  makes  a  first- 
rate  terrapin  stew,  quite  as  good  as  Tom ;  and  her  broil  and  fry 
will  pass  muster  in  any  camp.  I  remember  the  blue  cat,  which 
she  gave  us  on  the  Edisto,  with  a  relish  even  now ;  and  that 
reminds  me,  by  the  way,  that  we  must  get  hooks  and  lines  ready 
for  the  Ashepoo  pretty  soon.  We  shall  have  the  spring  upon 
us  before  we  get  our  tackle  ready." 

"  I'm  a-thinking,  cappin,"  said  Millhouse,  "that  you'll  have 
to  be  seeing  about  something  besides  blue  cat  and  fishing  lines, 
You'll  want  ploughs  and  hoes  sooner  than  anything  else.  These 
niggers  must  go  to  work,  mighty  soon,  ef  I'm  to  have  the  man 
aging  of  'em." 

"You,  Millhouse!  Do  you  mean  to  volunteer  as  ovei- 
seer  ?" 

"  Don't  I !  I  reckon  that's  pretty  much  all  I'm  good  for 
But  it's  lucky  I  do  know  something  of  rice  planting ;  and  I  was 
never  a  slouch  at  making  corn.  I'm  for  breaking  up  lam] 


MILLHOUSE    DISCUKSES   THE   POLICY    OP   PORGY. 

and   going  to  work,  without  so  much  as  axing  your  leave  or 
Ll«ssinff." 

'*•  You  shall  do  as  you  please,  old  fellow,  for  I  don*"  know  that 
i  can  teac!  y on  anything  in  these  matters.  I  was  always  oiKo 
of  that  large  class  of  planters  who  reap  thistles  from  their  plant 
ing.  I  sowed  wheat  only  to  reap  tares.  I  never  had  luck  in 
planting." 

"  That's  because  you  never  trusted  to  luck,  cappin.  You  was 
always  a-thinking  to  do  something  better  than  other  people,  and 
you  wouldn't  let  nater  [nature]  alone.  You  was  always  a-hur- 
rying  nater,  tell  you  wore  her  out ;  jest  like  those  foolish  moth 
ers  who  give  theii  children  physic  —  dose  after  dose  —  one  dose 
fighting  agin  the  other,  and  nara  [neither]  one  gitting  a  chance 
to  work.  No\y,  'I'm  a-thinking  that  the  true  way  is  to  put  the 
ground  in  order,  and  at  the  right  time  plant  the  seed,  and  then 
jest  lie  by,  and  look  on,  and  see  what  the  warm  sun  and  the 
tain's  guine  to  do  for  it.  But  you,  I  reckon,  warn't  patient 
enough  to  wait,  You  was  always  for  pulling  up  the  corn  to  see 
if  it  had  sprouted  ;  and  for  planting  over  jest  when  it  was  begin 
ning  to  grow.  I've  known  a  many  of  that  sort  of  people,  pre- 
•J'jklarly  among  you  wise  people,  and  gentlemen  born.  It  ain't 
.  sasonable  to  think  that  a  man  kin  find  new  wisdom  about  every 
thing  ;  and  them  sort  of  people  who  talk  so  fine,  and  strange, 
s,nd  sensible,  in  a  new  way,  about  the  business  that  has  been 
practised  ever  since  the  world  begun,  they're  always  overdoing 
the  business,  and  working  agin  nater.  They're  quite  too  know 
ing  to  give  themselves  a  chance." 

"  That's  philosophy,  Millhouse." 

"  No,  cappin,  'tain't  philosophy,  but  it's  mighty  good  sense. 
L  kin  make  corn,  and  rise,  I  reckon,  jest  as  good  as  any  man ; 
and  you  must  leave  it  all  to  me.  I'll  work  it  all  out,  and  you 
mus'n't  meddle,  cappin,  except  to  do  jest  them  things  that  I  tell 
you." 

"  Good  !  I  like  that !  I  feel  that  I  should  greatly  improve 
under  a  good  sense  keeper." 

"  'Zackly,  cappin  ;  that's  the  very  thing  you've  been  awant- 
ing  all  your  life.  Now,  I've  hearn  you  tell,  how  you  used,  when 
a-planting  these  same  rice  lands  of  your'n,  to  let  the  water  off 
of  the  fields  to  catch  the  fish,  ef  so  be  some  of  your  friends  hap 


190  WOODCRAFT. 

pen'd  to  come  and  dine  with  you.     Sp'ile  a  whole  field  of  fine  rice, 
jest  flooded,  to  catch  a  few  pairch!" 

"Ah!  but,  Millhouse,  they  were  such  beauties!  You  never  saw 
such  perch  in  your  life." 

"I  reckon  I've  seed  as  fine  pairch  as  ever  you  caught,  cappin. 
But  that  ain't  the  thing,  no  how.  Ef  they  were  as  fine  fish  as 
ever  grow'd  in  water,  it  was  a  sin  and  shame  to  sp'ile  the  rice  to 
catch  'em;  and,. as  sure  as  a  gun,  cappin,  ef  you  hud  been  rightly 
sarved,  you'd  ha'  been  tucked  up  to  a  swinging  limb,  and  been 
dressed  with  a  dozen  hickories,  tell  you  was  made  sensible  and 
ashamed." 

"Humph!"  exclaimed  Porgy,  emptying  the  ashes  from  his  pipe, 
and  by  no  means  delighted  with  the  suggestion.  But  his  self- 
esteem  was  less  combative  than  usual,  and  he  remained  silent. 
Millhouse  proceeded. 

"Now,  cappin,  I've  walunteered  to  be  your  sense-keeper,  as  you 
calls  it,  in  all  the  plantation  business,  and  you  must  jest  let  me 
have  my  own  way,  ef  you  want  to  git  on  sensible  in  the  world. 
I'm  overseer,  and  you  mus'n't  come  between  me  and  the  niggers. 
['11  do  my  work,  and  will  make  'em  do  theirs.  Ef  there's  any 
licking  to  be  done,  I'll  lay  it  on.  You  may  look  on,  but  you 
tnus'n't  meddle.  You  may  think  what  you  please,  but  you  mus'n't 
say  nothing.  AVe  kin  talk  over  the  matter  every  night,  and  I'll 
show  you  the  sense  of  what  I've  been  doing  in  the  day.  You 
kin  fish  in  the  river  when  you  please,  and  hunt  in  the  woods 
v\7hen  you  please,  and  go  riding  and  dining  out  where  you  please, 
and  I  won't  meddle,  nor  say  nothing;  but  in  the  crop,  cappin, 
you  mus'n't  put  a  finger  to  sp'ile  what  I'm  a-doing  for  your 
good." 

"A  very  pretty  arrangement." 

"Ain't  it,  now?" 

"Very?  I  have  your  permission  to  hunt,  and  fish,  and  dine 
abroad,  if  I  think  proper.  These,  then,  are  my  duties?" 

"'Zackly !  but  you  arc  not  to  take  hands  and  horses  out  of  the 
crop,  cappin,  for  your  'musements.  You're  not  to  carry  a  good 
plough-boy  off  to  find  bait  for  you  when  you're  a-fishing;  or 
horse  and  nigger  to  beat  the  woods  when  you're  a-hunting.  You 
must  choose  one  horse  for  your  own  riding,  cappin,  and  stick  to 
that," 


MILLHOUSE   DISCUSSES  THE   POLICY   OF   PORGY.       191 

"  You'll  let  me  keep  a  dog  or  two,  Millhouse?" 

"One,  I  reckon,  of  lie's  a  good  one,  cappin.     One  good  beagle 
is  quite  enough  for  these  woods." 
-    "  But  I  shall  want  a  pointer  for  birds. 

"A  p'inter!  I  never  could  see  the  use  of  a  p'inter!  I  kin 
find  as  many  partridges,  or  doves,  to  shoot,  in  a  pea  country,  as 
any  man  can  p'nt  a  gun  at,  and  without  any  dog  at  all.  I've 
shot,  myself,  a  whole  covey  of  partridges,  sixteen,  at  a  single 
fire." 

"Oh!  that  was  butchery,  Millhouse.  Anybody  can  kil!  par 
tridges  upon  the  ground,  or  doves  upon  the  tree.  But  to  do  this 
upon  the  wing,  and  to  bird  like  a  gentleman  and  a  sportsman, 
Millhouse,  requires  a  dog  to  point  and  flush." 

"Look,  you,  cappin,  them's  all  notions;  and  when  a  man's 
wanting  flesh  for  the  pot,  and  meal  for  the  hoe-cake,  it's  not  reason 
able  that  he  should  be  a  sportsman  and  a  gentleman.  That's  a  sort 
of  extravagance  that's  not  becoming  to  a  free  white  man,  when 
he's  under  bonds  to  a  sheriff." 

"D — u  the  sheriff!     Don't  mention  such  an  animal  in  my  hear- 


"Well,  d — n  the  sheriff!  I'm  agreed  to  that.  I've  no  reason 
to  love  the  animal  any  more  than  you ;  but  when  we  can't  shake 
off  the  beast,  the  best  way  that  I  can  see  is  to  draw  his  teeth. 
Now,  the  sort  of  life  you  wants  to  lead,  cappin,  will  do  for  a 
nigger  gentleman,  that  ain't  got  nothing  to  lose ;  or  for  an  Ingin 
gentleman  who's  got  nothing  that  a  sheriff  can  put  under  the  ham 
mer;  but  for  you  that's  got  edication,  and  has  been  a  soldier,  the 
thing  is  different,  The  difference  between  a  white  man  and  a  * 
nigger,  or  an  Ingin,  is  that  a  white  man  was  made  to  gather  sub 
stance  about  him,  and  a  nigger  and  an  Ingin  was  made  to  waste  it. 
That's  the  whole.  The  Ingin  was  born  to  clear  the  woods  of  the 
varmints  for  us;  and  the  nigger  to  clean  up  after  we've  eaten. 
That's  the  philosophy." 

"And  very  sensible  philosophy,  too,  Millhouse.  I  had  no  idea 
that  you  had  such  profound  ideas.  I  begin  to  think  that  you'll 
save  me  from  the  sheriff  if  any  one  can." 

"You  must  be  doing  something  for  yourself,  cappin,  besides 
fishing  and  hunting ;  or,  ef  you  will  hunt,  there's  a  sort  of  game 
that,  ef  you  kin  take  it,  will  always  be  sure  to  bring  us  meat  for 


192  WOODCRAFT. 

the  pot.  That's  the  sort  of  game  that  you  might  hunt,  and  want 
no  p'inter  more  than  your  own  nose ! " 

''Unless  yourself,  Millhouse.  Pray  point  out  this  profitable 
sort  of  game,  if  you  please." 

"  Well,  that  ain't  so  hard  a  matter.  And  iirst,  cappin,  let  me 
say  you're  a  good-looking  personable  man,  only  a  little  over  mid 
dle  age.  You  hain't  lost  your  uprightness.  Your  face  is  smooth. 
It  hain't  got  a  wrinkle  on  it.  Your  eyes. is  small,  but  of  a  mighty 
sweet  sort  of  blue ;  and  though  you're  a  leetle  too  fleshy  to  be 
Kjtriyh,  yet,  Lord  save  me,  you  kin  stand  a  mighty  great  deel  of 
hard  usage." 

"And  so " 

"And,  therefore,  cappin,  you  ought  to  git  married!" 

"As  logical  a  conclusion  as  I  ever  heard  in  all  my  life.  A  man 
who  can  stand  hard  usage  may  safely  venture  upon  matrimony. 
'Pon  my  soul,  Millhouse,  your  philosophy  and  logic  improve 
together." 

"I'm  glad  you  think  so,  cappin,"  responded  the  other,  with 
increasing  gravity.  "I've  been  a-thinking  what  you  ought  to 
do  ever  sence  I  heer'd  you  talking  of  the  bad  state  of  your  af 
fairs.  Now,  says  I  to  myself,  what  better  kin  the  cappin  do, 
than  find  some  clever,  good  sort  of  woman,  that's  outlived  all 
her  girlishness  and  foolishness,  and  that's  come  to  know  the 
valley  of  a  husband!  That  won't  be  looking  too  closely  at  his 
figure,  and  thinking  his  paunch  too  big,  and  his  legs  too  little  — 
that  won't  be  axing  whether  he's  cut  his  eye-tooth  or  not;  but'll 
jest  consider  that  a  man's  a  man  in  spite  of  his  gaaVth;  that  a 
soldier's  altogether  the  best  sort  of  a  man  going  in  these  times ; 
and  that'll  pass  over  the  sprinkle  of  gray  in  his  head,  in  con 
sideration  of  his  sound  teeth  and  good  wind.  Now,  cappin,  you 
does  git  a  leetle  out  of  wind,  when  you're  pushed  too  hard; 
but,  considering  what  a  mortal  weight  of  flesh  you've  got  to 
carry,  it's  wonderful  how  much  you  kin  stand.  It's  wonderful, 
I  say,  and  jest  as  surprising  as  wonderful.  Well,  now.  con 
sidering  all  these  things,  what's  to  hcnder  you  from  gitting  to 
the  right  side  of  some  good  woman,  with  a  smart  chance  of 
property,  and  proving  your  title  to  it,  by  the  sensible  way  you 
come  over  her.  I  reckon  there's  more  than  a  hundred  such 
women  here  in  Carolina,  now,  that,  when  they  come  to  consider 


MILLHOUSE    DISCUSSES   THE    POLICY    OF    PORGY.         ]  93 

how  many  of  tlic  handsome  young-  fellows  is  cut  off  in  the  war, 
will  be  mighty  glad  to  liev'  you  in  spite  of  figgor,  and  gray 
hairs.  You  ain't  so  old,  cappin,  but  that  you've  a  right  to  hev' 
a  wife  :  and,  under  the  sarcumstances,  I  say,  a  wife  is  the  one 
thing  needful ;  that  is  always  providing  she's  got  something  of 
a  property  to  go  upon  ;  for,  onless  you  git  a  woman  of  sub 
stance,  it'll  only  make  your  affairs  harder  to  manage  than  ever. 
You  must  be  thinking  of  a  woman  that'll  pay  off  that  mort 
gage  you  talk  about,  and  hev'  something  over.  Then,  we  kin 
work  the  plantation  to  some  purpose.  Then  you  needn't  fear 

the  d (1  warmint  of  a  sheriff",  and  then,  with  God's  blessing 

on  our  innocent  disposition,  we  may  all  live  here  like  fighting 
cocks." 

All  this,  and  much  more,  was  said  with  a  delightful  gravity. 
Porgy  was  overwhelmed.  He  was  so  taken  by  surprise,  by  the  ^ 
coolness  with  which  Millhouse  analyzed  himself  and  his  affairs, 
and  reported  upon  his  shortness  of  wind,  while  he  acknowledged 
the  excellence  of  his  teeth  ; — the  immensity  of  his  girth,  while 
he  admitted  the  amiable  cast  of  his  eyes  ;  his  slenderness  of  leg, 
(or  "  shrunk  shank,"  as  Porgy  muttered  sotto  roce)  while  rec 
ognising  the  smoothness  of  his  cheeks  —  that  he  was  absolutely 
dumb-foundered,  and  never  once  thought  to  interrupt  him,  let 
ting  him  run  to  the  end  of  his  tether,  which  was  by  no  means 
a  short  one.  At  length,  the  worthy  sergeant  came  to  a  halt. 
He  had  reached  his  climax.  What  a  soldier's  idea  of  life  —  living 
"like  a  fighting  cock"  —  properly  must  be,  need  only  be  left  to 
the  conjecture  of  the  reader.  Porgy  evidently  understood  it. 

"  That  would  be  something,  indeed,  Millhouse." 

"  Wouldn't  it !"  exclaimed  the  other. 

"  Yes,  indeed  ;  as  fighting  militia  men,  we  have  seldom  been 
allowed  the  privilege  of  living  like  fighting  cocks,  and  I  confess, 
for  one,  T  should  like  to  try  it,  for  a  season,  if  only  by  way  of  a 
change  But " 

Here  the  captain  of  partisans  turned  uneasily. 

"  Lance,"  said  he  to  the  lieutenant,  "  those  negroes  will  never 
finish  supper  unless  you  stir  them  up  ;  and  I  begin  to  think  that 
the  house  would  be  quite  as  comfortable  as  the  avenue.  This 
mist  is  turning  into  rain.  Get  in,  my  lad,  and  see  after  them, 
and  let  them  make  a  clearing  for  us !" 

9 


194  WOODCRAFT. 

The  youth  disappeared  in  an  instant. 

"And  so,  Millhonse,  you  think  I  am  still  able  to  undeigo  the 
.fatigues  of  matrimony  ?" 

"  It's  the  very  thing  for  you,  cappin." 

"  Well,  you've  thought  so  much  upon  the  subject,  I  suppose 
you've  even  thought  of  some  woman  in  particular,  such  as  you 
describe,  who  has  '  the  needful,'  and  knows  the  value  of  a  man, 
Pray,  tell  me,  if  such  is  the  case." 

"  To  be  sure,  I  hev'  !  I've  seed  the  very  woman,  and  so  hev 
you." 

»Ah!     Well  -  " 


"  Well  !  it's  jest  the  same  lady,  here,  that  we  e'jt  loose 
the  robbers  —  this  widow  Ebeleigh.  When  I  seed  ti:e  supplier 
in  her  wagon,  and  seed  how  liberal  she  was  in  giving;  when  ) 
seed  the  bacon  and  the  bread,  the  sugar  and  the  coffee,  and  the 
old  rum,  cappin  —  says  I  to  myself  —  '  That's  the  woman  for  the 
cappin  ;'  and  I  say  it  agin,  cappin,  she's  a  woman  you  kin  stand. 
I  wouldn't  be  consenting  to  your  having  any  sort  of  a  woman, 
but  this  here  one  is  a  beauty  for  a  man  at  your  time,  who'p  a 
soldier,  and  knows  what's  good  living  in  this  world  !  And  I'm 
a-thinking,  cappin,  that  that's  not  far  from  her  notion  too.  She 
looked  on  you  amazin'  sweet,  I  tell  you." 

"  It  is  something  to  be  thought  of,  Millhonse  ;  but,  as  fche 
iddoAv  isn't  here,  just  now,  suppose  we  try  the  rum  ?  What  do 
you  say  to  a  toddy  ?" 

"  Well,  I  say,  that's  quite  a  sensible  and  sodger-like  idee.'7 

"  Your  arm,  my  good  fellow,"  quoth  Porgy  ;  and,  .vith  the 
help  of  the  sergeant,  he  heaved  his  bulk  into  uprightness,  and 
both  of  them  passed  into  the  house  ;  from  the  hall  of 
Frampton  had  by  this  time  expelled  the  negroes,  sending  th 
hito  the  basement,  Tom  and  Pompey  alone  remaining  abo" 
.nth  the  view  to  making  proper  arrangements  for  the  night. 


MUSINGS—  MIDNIGHT   ALARM.  196 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 

MUSINGS  —  MIDNIGHT    ALARM. 

"  TOM,"  said  Porgy,  stirring  his  rum  find  sugar,  and  touching 
glasses  with  the  sergeant  (Frampton  declined  to  drink)—"  Tom, 
where  are  you  going  to  spread  my  blankets  to-night  ?" 

"  Yer,  maussa  —  yer  by  de  fire.  Yer's  de  place  for  you;  de 
leftenant  must  lie  dere,  and  de  sarjint  will  ease  he  limbs  yender, 
close  by  de  sugar  kag." 

"  'Twon't  do,  Tom  !  I  must  sleep  in  my  old  room,  you  ras 
cal,  if  it's  habitable.  You  know  this,  but " 

"  But  dere's  no  lire  dere,  maussa." 

"  And  why  the  d 1  didn't  you  have  a  fire  made  there,  you 

lazy  rascal  ?  See  to  it  at  once.  Open  the  room,  and  if  there's 
floor  enough  for  my  length  and  breadth,  have  it  swept  out  in 
the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  Set  some  of  the  fellows  at  once  to 
work  bringing  in  wood  and  kindling  fire." 

"  You,  Pomp " 

"  Let  Pomp  alone.  I  want  him  here.  Do  it  yourself,  if  you 
can  find  no  one  else." 

Torn  disappeared,  and  stirred  up  the  negroes  below  stairs. 
The  door  of  a  chamber  entering  from  the  hall  was  thrown  open, 
and  a  torch  carried  in. 

"  Is  it  habitable  V  was  the  demand  of  Porgy. 

"  Oh  yes,  maussa,  when  I  done  bresh  'em  out,  and  mek  do 
(ire  bu'n.  One  ob  de  floor-board  is  gone,  but  nuff  lef  for  you 
lie  'pon." 

"  Very  good.  Bestir  yourself.  And  now,  men,  for  the  order 
of  the  day  to-morrow.  We  must  get  an  early  breakfast,  and 
set  out  betimes  for  the  burial  of  these  rascals.  Lance,  did  you 
instruct  one  of  the  fellows  to  ride  over  at  daylight  to  Mrs.  Eve- 
leigh's  for  the  shovels'?" 

The  reply  was  affirmative. 

"Very  good.     And  now,  men,  the  sooner  you  take  your  rest 


106  WOODCRAFT. 

the  better.  To-morrow  we  must  be  stirring.  There  is  much  to 
be  done.  Tom,  do  you  give  out  a  blanket  to  each  of  the  ne 
groes  ;  take  one  for  yourself,  and  give  Pomp  another.  Put  the 
rest  into  my  room.  You,  Tom  and  Pomp,  will  sleep  in  the 
shed-room,  to  be  within  call.  See  to  the  negroes  below,  before 
you  lie  down,  that  they  do  not  crowd  into  the  fire.  If  let  alone, 
the  blockheads  will  burn  us  all  up.  Have  an  eye  to  them. 
We  must  build  a  few  pole-houses  as  soon  as  possible.  And  now 
to  bed.  Millhouse  will  you  take  some  more  rum  before  you 
sleep  ?" 

"  Not  a  drop,  cappin." 

"  Help  yourself,  Tom,  and  put  the  rest  safely  away." 

"  T'ank  you,  manssa,"  and  Tom  helped  himself  with  a  liberal 
hand.  Millhouse  had  already  stretched  himself  out,  and  rolled 
in  his  blanket.  Frampton  lay  upon  his,  resting  upon  his  elbow, 
with  his  head  upon  his  palm,  and  gazing  demurely  into  the  fire. 
Porgy  cast  a  dubious  glance  around  him,  then  gathering  up  his 
sword  and  holsters,  was  about  to  retire,  when  he  turned  and 
said :  — 

"  Who  has  seen  to  the  horses  ?" 

Frampton  replied:  — 

"  I  have  fastened  them  under  the  piazza,  captain,  and  given 
them  both  corn  and  fodder.  Mrs.  Eveleigh's  overseer  brought, 
over  a  supply  to  last  a  week." 

"  Ah  !  — all's  right.  Well,  good  night,  men,  and  a  good  sleep 
to  you — though  I  may  as  well  tell  you  that  the  house  is 
haunted." 

Millhouse  growled  from  within  his  blankets,  with  something 
of  the  tone  of  a  bull-dog  suspicious  of  a  stranger.  Frainpton's 
rye  brightened  a  little,  but,  except  the  "  good  night"  with  which 
lie  replied  to  the  captain's,  he  said  nothing.  In  a  few  moments, 
Porgy,  Tom,  and  Pomp,  having  retired  to  their  several  lairs, 
the  house  was  left  in  deep  quiet,  save  from  an  occasional  mm 
n^ur  that  ascended  from  the  negroes  in  the  basement. 

Our  captain  of  partisans  entered  the  chamber,  and  let  .himself 
down  upon  the  pile  of  blankets  which  formed  his  couch.  This 
was  spread  before  the  fireplace,  and  he  sat  with  his  feet  to  the 
blaze.  He  had  disencumbered  himself  of  his  coat  and  small 
clothes,  his  bootu  and  stockings.  His  sword  and  pistols  lay  be- 


MUSINGS  —  MIDNIGHT    ALARM.  197 

side  him,  his  saddle,  over  which  one  of  the  blankets  was  spread, 
served  him  for  a  pillow.  But  for  a  long-  time  lie  did  not  lie 
down.  His  eyes  were  bent  upon  the  fire,  or  slowly  wandered 
around  the  almost  vacant  chamber.  It  was  a  snug,  but  suffi 
ciently  capacious  apartment,  jprobably  eighteen  by  twenty  feet. 
The  walls  still  exhibited  proof  of  a  degree  of  pride  and  state, 
which  declared  for  a  former  wealth  and  taste,  such  as  wore 
strangely  inconsistent  with  the  present  fortunes  of  the  possessor^ 
The  panelling  of  wood  over  the  fireplace  still  showed  traces  of 
two  landscape  paintings  in  oil,  done  upon  the  panels  with  no 
inconsiderable  art.  The  framework  around  them  consisted  of 
heavy  carved  work,  and  the  pillars  of  the  mantel-piece  were 
richly  ornamented  with  carvings  in  similar  style.  About  the 
room  still  hung  the  dingy  and  shattered  frames  of  pictures, 
probably  portraits,  from  which  the  canvass  had  been  cut  out. 
It  had  probably  been  found  useful  for  the  meanest  purposes,  and 
had  been  appropriated,  with  all  other  moveables  of  any  value, 
by  the  marauding  British  and  tories.  The  glass  was  destroyed 
in  the  sashes  of  all  the  windows.  The  shutters  were  mostly 
torn  from  the  hinges  and  carried  off,  probably  destroyed  for  fire 
wood.  One  of  the  planks  of  the  floor  had  been  taken  up,  and 
lay  beside  the  opening,  very  much  hewed  and  mangled  by  the 
axe.  The  fragments  of  an  ancient  mahogany  bedstead  lay 
piled  up  in  one  corner,  but  it  was  evidently  no  longer  available 
for  use.  It  had  been  that  on  which  Porgy  had  slept  when  a  child . 
it  was  the  bedstead  of  his  mother.  A  bit  of  green  cord  still  de 
pended  from  a  nail  against  the  opposite  wall.  It  had  sustained 
the  picture  of  his  mother ;  that  portrait  of  a  fair  young  woman, 
taken  when  she  was  yet  unmarried,  whose  sweet  smiling  fea 
tures,  in  the  active  exercise  of  memory  and  fancy,  seemed  still 
to  be  looking  down  upon  him. 

Porgy  knew  not  that  the  big  tears  were  gathering  slowly  in 
his  eyes,  and  gradually  stealing  down  upon  his  cheeks.  He  had 
reached  his  home,  but  it  was  a  home  no  longer.  The  home  i? 
made  by  the  hopes  which  it  generates,  and  he  had  survived  all 
those,  of  whatever  sort,  which  came  with  youth  and  childhood. 
The  prospect  before  him  was  one  of  unmixed  desolation.  How 
was  he  to  redeem  the  mortgaged  acres  of  his  domain  1  How 
was  he  to  retain  the  poor  remains  of  a  once  ample  fortune ' 


198  WOODCRAFT. 

What  were  his  own  resources  for  this  task  ?  What  were  left 
for  him  to  do,  and  where  was  the  agency,  external  to  himself, 
by  \ihich  to  effect  the  difficult  achievement.  The  embarrassing 
straits  of  his  condition  had  made  themselves  apparent  to  him, 
most  fully,  on  the  moment  of  his  return.  But  for  the  unex 
pected  events  of  the  day,  and  the  generosity  of  Mrs.  Eveleigh, 
he  must  have  gone,  himself,  supperless  to  sleep,  and  witnessed 
the  privations,  in  extreme,  of  his  followers  and  slaves. 

And  the  relief  was  temporary  only.  He  must  provide  for 
these  hereafter  ;  and  how  ?  By  incurring  new  embarrassments 
and  obligations  ;  by  adding  to  the  weight  of  former  bonds  and 
responsibilities ;  by  endeavoring  to  establish  a  credit  without 
being  able  to  offer  new  securities.  Was  it  probable  that  he 
could  do  this,  in  the  unsettled  condition  of  the  colony  ?  And 
what  securities  could  he  offer  to  the  creditor  ?  His  lands  were 
mortgaged  to  an  amount  five  times  their  present  value.  A  fore 
closure  of  mortgage  at  the  present  juncture  would  not  only 
sweep  them  away,  but  take  his  negroes  also,  and  still  leave  him 
a  debtor  beyond  all  means  of  payment.  Even  if  time  were 
allowed  him,  could  he  hope,  criminally  ignorant  as  he  was  of  all 
the  arts  requisite  to  the  good  planter,  to  recover  himself  and 
renovate  his  fortunes  ?  These  were  the  subjects  of  his  medita- 
tions>  and,  chewing  the  bitter  cud  of  thought  and  memory,  his 
heart  almost  failed  'him. 

He  stretched  himself  out  upon  his  blankets  almost  reproach 
ing  the  merciful  fate  which  had  saved  him  from  the  bullet  or 
bayonet  of  the  enemy.  His  despondency  for  awhile,  increased 
with  his  meditation,  until  he  felt  that  it  would  not  be  difficult 
that  very  hour  to  die.  To  die,  was  to  escape  the  cares,  the 
troubles  and  the  humiliations  to  which  he  felt  himself  unequal, 
and  which  he  now  felt  to  be  inevitable  from  life,  with  such  a 
prospect  as  now  grew  up,  dark  and  distinct,  before  his  mind. 
He  would  have  found  it  at  once  easy  and  grateful  to  be  roused 
that  moment  with  the  call  to  battle.  He  would  have  rejoiced 
to  find  a  full  finish  to  his  cares,  in  a  desperate  onset,  at  the  head 
of  his  corps  of  partisans.  "  But  the  wars  were  all  over,"  and 
this  refuge  was  denied  him.  He  must  live  and  how  to  live  ? 
The  reflections  that  followed  this  inquiry,  arrayed  before  him 
the  small  operations  of  his  little  force  of  half-a-dozen  negroes 


MUSlN(iS — MIDXUJIIT    ALARM.  199 

in  tlic  rice  fields,  under  the  doubtful  management  of  Sergeant 
Mill  house.  True,  the  sergeant  boasted  of  his  merits  as  a  rwe 
planter,  but  was  it  so  sure  that  he  knew  anything  of  the  matter? 
True,  rice  was  the  most  profitable  crop  then  made  in  the  country, 
but  how  much  rice,  even  supposing  the  best  management,  and 
the  most  favoring  seasons,  could  be  made  by  his  half-dozen 
negroes ] 

But  then  came  up  the  last  suggestion  of  the  sanguine  Mill- 
house.  There  was  the  widow  Eveleigh  1  The  widow  was  a 
woman  of  goodly  form,  of  gracious  manners,  of  fine  and  inde 
pendent  estates.  The  widow  had  experienced  his  friendly  ser 
vices  ;  she  had  witnessed  his  valor  in  her  cause  ;  he  had  perilled 
life  in  her  defence ;  he  had,  in  all  probability,  saved  herself 
from  brutality,  and  her  son  from  death.  These  were  eminent 
services.  She  evidently  felt  them.  Why  should  he  not  aspire 
to  the  widow  1  Was  he  not  a  man  of  person,  portly,  of  com 
manding  figure,  of  good  features,  and  quite  young  enough  for 
her.  The  captain  stroked  his  chin  with  a  sense  of  satisfaction 
as  he  reasoned  thus.  But,  just  then,  occurred  to  him  the  some 
what  disparaging  reflection  of  the  sergeant  upon  his  legs.  He 
looked  down  at  the  members,  which  were  thus  assumed  to  be 
impediments  to  progress,  in  direct  conflict  with  their  designed 
uses.  Surely,  they  are  not  so  slender — they  are  not  shrunken 
at  all ;  their  dimensions  are  as  great  as  ever.  It  is  only  in  con 
trast  with  the  mountainous  abdomen,  that  they  appear  inferior. 
It  was  with  some  feeling  of  reproach  and  impatience  that  our 
captain  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  unnaturally  distended  member 
By  what  malice  of  fate  was  it  that  it  had  so  greatly  grown  at 
the  expense  of  all  the  rest !  But  he  was  kept  from  quarrelling 
outright  with  the  one  region,  by  a  timely  recollection  of  the 
famous  allegory  of  Menenius  Agrippa. 

"No!  no!"  quoth  he  to  himself.  "This  will  never  do.  I 
sould  wish  my  storehouse  differently  shaped  and  sized,  if  only 
for  compactness  and  more  easy  carriage ;  but  it  has  done  good 
service  in  its  time,  and  it  is  my  own  fault  if  I  have  used  it  a 
little  too  much,  and  the  other  members  much  too  little.  Had  I 
worked  them  more,  and  it  less  —  had  I  suffered  them  less  to 
take  their  ease,  I  should  now  have  nothing  to  complain  of,  either 
m  respect  to  their  deficiency  or  its  excess.  It  has  distributed 


'200  WOODCRAFT. 

as  liberally  as  it  could,  according  to  my  allowance  ;  and  they 
according  to  Agrippa,  have  received  '  the  flower  of  all,'  leaving 
to  the  belly  the  bran  only.  Certainly,  it  is  a  monstrous  neces 
sity  that  I  should  be  compelled  thus  to  carry  with  me  such  a 
l»ag  of  bran.  But  what  is  to  be  done  ?  It  is  an  inheritance 
which  one  may  not  mortgage  ;  a  store-house  of  which  no  sheriff 
can  deprive  the  possessor.  This,  at  least,  is  a  perfect  right  and 
indefeasible  !"  and  he  laid  his  hands  rather  affectionately  on  the 
region  under  description. 

"  At  least !"  he  continued,  "  there  is  nothing  insignificant  about 
it.  It  may  not  be  comely  to  the  eye,  but  nobody  can  regard  it 
as  contemptible.  It  is  not  calculated  to  admit  of  the  exhibition 
of  grace ;  but  what  gentleman  is  ambitious  of  the  renown  of  a 
dancing-master.  Still,  it  is  something  on  parade.  Nobody  finds 
fault  with  such  as  abdomen  in  a  general.  It  embarrasses  no 
man  whose  position  requires  that  he  should  move  with  dignity. 
It  guaranties  the  courage  of  the  proprietor,  since  one  is  scarcely 
apt  to  run  in  battle,  with  such  extensive  stores  to  carry  with 
him.  No  !  no  !  sergeant,  you  shall  not  persuade  me  out  of  the 
faith  that  my  parts  are  at  all  in  the  way  of  my  person.  But 
you  may  persuade  me  to  the  effort  to  place  them  properly  in  the 
way  of  other  people.  This  widow  is  a  noble  creature  —  pleasing 
to  the  eye ;  amiable,  I  know ;  well  off,  in  respect  of  fortune. 
She  can  redeem  my  acres.  She  can  put  me  on  my  legs  again, 
however  heavy  my  incumbrance.  And  why  should  she  not  do 
so  1  She  is  young  enough  still  for  tastes  and  sensibilities,  for 
which  mere  wealth  can  never  suffice.  She  has  tasted  of  matri 
mony,  and  does  not  seem  to  have  suffered  from  the  taste.  We 
must  think  more  closely  of  this  matter." 

He  laid  himself  back  upon  his  saddle,  and  mused  awhile  ; 
rose  again,  and  sitting,  pushed  up  the  brands,  and  drew  the 
blanket  over  his  legs.  His  meditations  were  now  upon  topics 
and  details  more  immediately  pressing. 

"  To-morrow,  we  will  bury  these  scoundrels.  It  will  take  us 
till  afternoon.  We  can  do  little  more  that  day.  The  next  I  am 
to  dine  with  the  widow.  Humph !  After  that  I  must  set  off 
for  the  city.  We  must  have  ploughs  and  hoes,  and  a  hundred 
other  things  for  the  plantation.  Millhouse  must  be  pacified. 
The  negroes  set  to  work.  We  must  work,  that  is  clear,  though 


MUSI\<,V         .MiDXlUliT    ALARM.  201 

the  sherifl  steps  into  the  harvesting.  Wagons,  ploughs,  hoos, 
axes,  rope,  furniture  —  I  must  have.  By  Jupiter  !  I  am  resolved 
to  die  in  a  feather-Led,  if  I  can.  Food  —  we  must  have  some 
bacon  for  the  negroes.  I  must  have  some  wine  for  myself,  and 
tor  a  guest,  and  rum  for  the  sergeant.  "  Kitchen  furniture — " 

And  he  enumerated  a  score  of  other  commodities. 

"  But,  the  d — 1 !  How  for  the  credit !  I  must  counsel  on  the 
subject  with  the  widow.  A  woman  is  never  more  flattered  by 
n  man  than  when  he  solicits  her  advice.  She  usually  gives  him 
more  than  he  bargains  for,  but  she  not  unfrequently  gives  her 
self  into  the  bargain  !" 

The  meditations  of  Porgy,  mixed  as  they  were,  carried  him 
late  into  the  night.  When  every  thing  was  still  about  the  premi 
ses  he  was  wakeful.  As  a  thought  would  occur  to  him  with  any 
force,  he  would  rise,  fling  a  fresh  brand  into  the  fire,  and  sit  up 
watching  the  blaze ;  lie  down  again  for  awhile,  only  to  start  up 
once  more  to  meditation.  But  nature  asserted  her  necessities  at 
last,  and  his  nostrils  soon  furnished  audible  echo  to  those  sounds 
which  he  had  heard  at  intervals  issuing  from  the  neighboring 
hall,  and,  as  he  assumed,  from  the  proboscis  of  the  sergeant. 
Deep  thus  continued  for  a  season  to  «all  unto  deep,  without 
either  paying  much  heed  to  their  mutual  responses.  Once,  it  is 
true,  a  more  than  ordinary  explosion  from  the  sergeant's  nose, 
seemed  to  disquiet  the  slumbers  of  the  captain. 

"  Zounds  !"  quoth  he,  drowsing  again.  "  How  Millhouse  does 
snore!  What  an  infirmity! — peculiar,  I  believe,  only  to  the 
lower  orders.  Gentlemen  never  snore  !  How  is  it  with  ladies  ? 
Wonder  if  the  widow  Evel " 

And  the  conjecture  remained  unconcluded ;  and  the  mutual 
nostrils  of  captain  and  sergeant  continued  to  respond  to  one 
another,  without  causing  any  annoyance  to  either  party.  But 
they  were  both  destined  to  be  aroused  by  an  explosion  of  very 
different  character.  They  had  slept  some  hours,  soundly,  as 
was  natural  to  men  who  had  gone  through  such  a  day's  work  as 
that  we  have  already  described.  It  wore  on  toward  morning — 
was,  indeed,  but  a  short  hour  to  daybreak  —  when  Porgy  started 
up  with  a  ringing  and  a  rushing  sound,  seemingly  immediately 
pt  his  cms.  Millhouse  was  awakened  at  the  same  moment. 
They  were  both  upon  their  feet  in  uii  instant.  But  tlu'y  were 

9* 


202  WOODCRAFT. 

in  the  dark.  The  fire  had  burned  down  in  both  apartments,  and 
Millhouse  was  stumbling  in  confusion  over  kegs  and  boxes,  not 
knowing  in  which  way  to  turn,  or  whence  came  the  sounds  of 
alarm  which  were  still  ringing  in  his  ears.  The  captain  wak 
ened  to  instant  consciousness  of  his  situation.  It  was  a  pistol 
shot  he  had  heard  the  moment  after  he  was  awakened.  He 
detected  a  rush  in  the  piazza,  and  fancied  he  could  hear  still  the 
distant  tramplings  of  a  horse.  He  could  also  hear  the  soft  dull 
pattering  of  the  rain  upon  the  roof  of  the  piazza,  There  was 
evidently  an  alarm.  His  holsters  were  caught  up,  and  the 
pistols  detached  in  an  instant.  In  another  he  was  feeling  his 
way  into  the  hall,  whither  he  made  his  way  without  any  diffi 
culty,  the  whole  region  being  familiar  to  his  childhood.  Sud 
denly  he  encountered  Millhonse.  They  grappled  one  another 
with  a  mutual  instinct, 

"  Speak  !"  cried  Porgy,  "  or  I  shoot." 

"  Is't  yon,  cappin,  is  it  ?" 

"  What's  the  matter,  Millhouse  ?" 

"  Dogs  !  I  don't  know  !  I  jest  heard  bang  !  bang  !  and  a 
shouting,  and  a  noise  of  feet,  and  started  up  to  make  my  way 

out,  and  heeled  over  or*  of  these  d d  kags  !     I've  spilt  some 

blood  in  the  affair,  though  it's  only  from  my  nose." 

"A  part  that  may  well  spare  it,"  replied  Porgy,  not  willing 
to  forego  his  jest  at  any  season.  "  But,  where's  Lance  ?" 

"  I  ha'n't  seed  him." 

"  Then  it  was  his  pistol.  That  fellow  never  sleeps.  Stay  ! 
that  window  is  open  on  the  piazza.  I  see.  He  has  jumped  out 
there.  Let  me  find  the  door.  We  must  see  after  him.  He's  a 

sentinel   among  a  thousand.      Those   d d   negroes  haven't 

heard  a  word  of  the  matter." 

"  Ham't  turned  over  for  a  second  nap,  I  reckon." 

"  Strike  a  light,  MilMiouse  !  Here's  the  fireplace,  you  know- 
where  you  put  the  flint  and  tinder.  I've  got  the  door." 

Saying  these  words,  Porgy  unfastened  the  door  and  stepped 
out  into  the  piazza,  All  was  still  for  a  few  moments.  He  could 
see  nothing.  The  night  was  dismally  dark.  The  rain  fell  in  a 
settled  shower.  The  wind  sighed  at  a  distance  very  mournfully 
Porgy  waited  in  silence.  As  the  light  kindled  within,  he  drew 
the  door  t\  that,  it  might  offer  no  aid  to  a  random  bullet.  He 


MUSINGS — MIDNIGHT    ALARM.  203 

siood  thus,  beginning,  in  his  only  half-dressed  condition,  to  shiv 
er  with  the  chilling  night  wind,  when  he  heard  a  footstep  upon 
some  decaying  branches  on  the  earth  below. 

"  Who  goes  there  ?" 

"Lance  !"  was  the  reply,  and  the  young  lieutenant  sprang  up 
the  steps,  covered  with  mud,  and  soaking  with  water,  with  a  pis 
tol  in  each  hand. 

"  What  the  d— 1's  the  stir,  Lance  ?" 

The  youth's  story  was  soon  told.  He  was  awakened  by  a 
trampling  and  seeming  confusion  among  the  horses  below,  lie 
listened,  and,  as  the  stir  continued,  he  rose,  found  his  pistols,  and 
was  preparing  to  step  out  quietly,  when  he  distinctly  heard  the 
free  movements  of  a  single  steed,  as  if  guided  round  the  house. 
He  immediately  dashed  open  the  shutter  of  the  window  under 
which  he  lay,  jumped  out  into  the  piazza  and  challenged.  In 
stead  of  an  answer,  the  horse  was  put  into  instant  motion  down 
the  avenue.  He  fired  twice,  at  random,  at  the  object  which  he 
fancied  he  could  see,  but  he  supposed  without  effect.  He  then 
darted  down  the  steps,  and  down  the  avenue"  for  a  hundred 
yards,  but  without  result.  The  fugitive,  whoever  he  was,  had 
succeeded  in  making  his  escape. 

Of  the  mischief  done,  if  any,  nothing  as  yet  was  known.  To 
this  inquiry  all  parties  now  addressed  themselves.  Porgy  hur 
ried  on  his  clothes.  Millhouse,  penetrating  the  shed-room  where 
Tom,  the  cook,  and  Pomp,  the  fiddler,  were  doing  any  quantity 
of  sleep,  endeavored  to  arouse  them  both  at  the  same  moment, 
by  punching  them,  as  they  lay  side  by  side,  with  his  sheathed 
sabre  in  his  one  hand,  and  with  the  stump  of  his  remaining  arm. 
His  sword  stirred  Pomp  into  consciousness,  while  the  stump  of 
arm,  pressing  closely  against  Tom's  cheek,  was  instinctively 
seized,  by  the  sleeve,  between  the  teeth  of  the  negro,  and  held 
with  a  growl,  which  made  the  sergeant  a  little  doubtful  of  his 
condition. 

"  Why,  Tom,"  said  he,  "  you're  wolf-bit,  and  dog-bit  too,  1 
reckon,  jedging  by  the  sort  of  teeth  you  carry ;  but  let  loose 
old  fellow,  or  I'll  be  drawing  your  teeth  out  with  a  handspike." 

"Who  dat?"  quoth  Tom. 

"  Git  up,  you  varmint,  and  shake  yourself." 

"  Gorrah  !  I  never  guine  git  my  sleep  !" 


•JO  4  WOODCKAFT. 

"  Sleep !  You've  liad  enough  for  a  month  You  sleeps  like 
a  bear  in  cold  weather." 

"  DLs  Jah  cold  wedder  'nough  for  nigger.  Ef  I  bin  bear,  Mass 
Millh'us,  I  nebber  been  let  you  go  so  easy.  Wha'  de  matter 
now  ?  Wlm'  for  you  no  let  poor  sodger  nigger  hab  he  leetle 
.sleeps  widout  'tir  'em  up  wicl  stump  and  swode  ?" 

"  Why,  we're  robbed  and  killed  here,  you  skunk  ;  we've  had 
a  light  with  the  tories,  and  they've  scalped  Lance,  and  shot  the 
cappin  in  three  places,  his  head,  his  belly,  and  his  witals." 

"  Lord  ha'  massy  !  Shoot  maussa  jes'  as  he  git  to  he  own 
home  at  last.  I  never  b'lieb,  eben  ef  I  see  em.  Ho  !  maussa, 
I  say,  in  der' !" 

And,  shouting  as  he  went,  followed  by  Pomp,  Tom,  the  cook, 
now  thoroughly  awakened,  hurried  to  join  the  group  within  the 
hall.  Torches  were  kindled,  and  all  armed,  the  party  sallied 
out,  having  divided,  one  portion  taking  the  front,  the  other  the 
rear  outlet.  The  house  was  circled,  the  avenue  explored  ;  horse- 
tracks  were  found  going  forth,  freshly  made  in  the  mud  ;  and  an 
examination  of  the  horses  showed  one  of  them  to  be  missing. 

"  'Tis  de  raw  bone  black,  Pomp.  De  same  sawt  of  hoss  I  bin 
see  dat  d — n  Bossick  ride." 

The  proceeding  was  a  sufficiently  daring  one. 

"  The  squatter,  Bostwick  ?"  queried  Porgy,  looking  to  Tom. 

"  Da  him,  maussa,  sure  as  a  gun." 

"It  maybe!  Well!"  compressing  his  lips.  "He  may  ride 
one  horse  too  much  for  his  own  comfort  yet." 

"  The  foal  of  an  acorn  !"  said  Millhouse.  "  I  reckon  it  was  sar- 
tain  one  of  the  chaps  we  font  with  yesterday,  whether  you  call 
him  Bossick  or  what.  And  a  mighty  sassy  fellow  !  Why,  cap- 
pin,  sich  a  thing  hardly  ever  happened  to  us  in  all  the  cam 
paigns." 

"  No,  indeed !" 

"  It  is  a  shame  and  a  disgrace  to  us  as  sodgers." 

"  You  forget  that  the  war  is  over  and  we  had  no  reason  to 
expect  attack.  But  it's  no  use  talking.  Well  it's  ne  worse. 
He  might  have  taken  all,  but  for  Lance.  Millhouse,  you  sleep 
like  a  tomb-stone,  and  snore  like  the  seven  sleepers.  There's 
no  more  sleep  for  any  of  us  to-night.  It  must  be  near  day 
Tom,  turn  in  and  have  us  some  coffee.  Lance,  send  off  the  fel 


KKTUUX    TO    TMI-:   TIKU)    OF    BATTLE.  li'J.M 

low  to  the  widow  Eveleigh's  for  the  spades  and  hoes.  Tell 
him  to  go  to  the  overseer's  house,  and  he  careful  not  to  disturb 
the  lady.  Sergeant,  will  you  take  a  little  rum  now,  or  wait  for 
the  coffee  ?" 

"  Well,  cappin,  jest  to  be  a-doing,  I'll  do  both." 
"  You  were  born  to  be  a  soldier,  sergeant,"  replied  Porgy 
quietly,  as  he  motioned  to  the  liquor  before  him.  Pomp  was 
already  at  hand  with  a  gourd  of  water.  But  Millhouse  drank 
alone.  Porgy  had  already  turned  to  his  usual  resource,  and 
was  crowding  fresh  tobacco  into  his  pipe.  Day  dawned  within 
the  hour,  but  very  gloomily,  and  the  rain,  though  slackened,  sii1.1 
continued. 


CHAPTER    XXXII 

ItKTUKN    TO    THE    FIELD    OF    BATTLE. 

TUK  day,  as  was  expected,  opened  in  gloom.  The  sun  made 
i  o  showings  that  morning.  The  skies  were  enveloped  in  un 
broken  cloud  and  vapor,  relieved  imperfectly  by  a  constant  fall 
of  rain,  which  was  of  that  cool,  measured,  deliberate  sort,  which 
indicates  unfailing  resource,  and  a  quiet  determination  to  have 
its  own  way.  Our  captain  of  partisans  walked  out  into  the 
piazza,  front  and  rear,  without  any  sense  of  relief  from  either 
quarter.  The  avenue  in  front  exhibited  a  dreary  aspect  in  spite 
of  the  fact  that  it  was  composed  mostly  of  evergreens.  The 
great  oaks,  grown  together  and  arching  above  the  track,  each 
wore  its  heavy  streamers  of  gray  moss,  which  drooped  almost  to 
the  earth  with  the  great  water-drops,  like  the  old-fashioned  pic 
tures  of  winter,  his  big  beard  crested  with  icicles.  Vacant  fields 
on  either  hand,  fenceless  and  wholly  uncultivated,  added  vastly 
to  the  dreariness  of  the  scene.  Fog  and  cloud,  vapor  and  rain, 
were  present  everywhere,  and  made  everything  as  gloomy  to 
the  eyes  of  the  spectator  as  it  was  to  his  thoughts.  Those  old 
fields,  should  lie  ever  again  see  them  smiling  in  corn  1  The  old 
house,  whose  timbers  groaned  beneath  his  tread,  how  long  should 
he  enjoy  its  shelter  1  Should  he  ever,  with  any  feeling  of  secu- 


206  WOODCRAFT. 

rity,  behold  it  gay  with  the  joyous  faces  of  his  friends  ?  Was 
not  all  the  life-prospect  before  his  mind  as  sombre  and  cheerless 
as  that  before  his  eyes?  While  he  mused  thus,  perhaps  with  a 
wholesome  bitterness  having  in  it  no  small  degree  of  belf-re- 
proach,  lie  was  joined  oy  Millhousc. 

"These   old   fields,  cappin,"  said   the   latter,  extending   the 
stump  of  his  arm,  as  he  spoke,  to  the  indicated  quarter,  "  these 
Jd  fields  will  be  sure  to  bring  fine  corn;  they  are  all  matted 
ith  weeds,  and  have  been  lying  out  so  long.     I  reckon  you 
'  l:at  ricollect  when  they  were  planted  last  ?" 
.  i-jt  I!"  Avas  the  ansAver 

"  But  you  hev?  seen  'em  a-growing,  cappin  T' 

"  I  suppose  so ;  I  can  now  see  that  they  have  been  planted, 
and  I  suppose  in  my  time  ;  but  really,  my  good  sergeant,  to  say 
that  I  saw  them  in  a  crop,  or  ever  saw  the  crop,  of  any  kind, 
when  I  was  professedly  a  planter,  would  be  something  of  a 
rashness  011  my  part.  Pray  believe  that  I  was  a  very  foolish, 
profligate  person,  who,  in  ceasing  to  be  young,  did  not  cease  to 
be  foolish,  and  continued  his  absurd  vanities  and  excesses  to  the 
last.  And  I  am  telling  you  now,  Millhouse,  what  has  been  but 
too  commonly  the  case  among  our  young  men  of  fortune  of  my 
day.  There  were  some  exceptions,  it  is  true;  but  the  curse  of 
my  generation  was  that  our  fathers  lived  too  well,  were  too  rap 
idly  prosperous,  and  though  they  did  not  neglect  the  exercise 
of  a  proper  industry  in  themselves,  they  either  did  not  know 
how  to  teach  it  to  their  children,  or  presumed  on  the  absence  of 
any  necessity  that  they  should  learn.  We  were  to  be  affluent 
in  what  they  should  leave  us  —  enough,  in  God's  name,  if  we 
could  keep  it — but  it  is  very  sure  that  the  best  way  to  teach 
one  to  value  and  to  keep  what  he  gets,  is  just  to  teach  him  how 
to  get  it  himself.  He  who  has  -not  learned  the  one  lesson  will 
fail  in  the  other,  and  is  apt  to  waste  what  he  did  not  work  for. 
And  now,  my  good  fellow,  don't  say  another  word  to  me  about 
the  crops  in  past  seasons.  I  have  really  no  wish  to  confess  my 
sins  and  follies  to  man  as  well  as  to  myself  and  God.  Turn  in, 
if  you  ave  so  disposed,  and  make  your  crops  ;  you  say  you  know 
how,  and  I  am  willing  to  believe  you.  I  will  assist  you  when  I 
can » 

"  But  don't  you  meddle,  cappm." 


RETURN    TO    THE    FIELD    OF    RATTLE.  207 

"  OIi,  no  !  you  shall  have  full  swing  for  a  season,  at  least,  and 
1"  will  second  you  —  I  will  be  your  sergeant  only.  You  shall 
have  a  fair  share  of  the  spoils  at  harvest-time,  and  we'll  continue 
to  live  as  decently  as  possible  in  the  meanwhile.  And  that 
reminds  me  that  it  is  time  for  breakfast.  That  rascal,  Tom, 
because  we  broke  his  slumbers  so  suddenly  this  morning  will  be 
jut  df  humor  all  day.  Let's  see  to  him." 

iVIuihouse  was  not  quite  satisfied  to  have  his  mouth  shut  so 
summarily  by  the  frank  confession  of  the  faults  and  follies  on 
the,  part  of  his  superior.  He  was  not  content  that  a  general 
confession,  however  sweeping,  should  anticipate  the  details,  one 
by  one,  of  Porgy's  short-comings.  He  had  a  sort  of  inquisitorial 
faculty  for  dragging  out  the  truth,  inch  by  inch,  slowly  from  the 
criminal,  so  that  he  should  not  escape  a  single  pang  which  was 
proper  to  his  case ;  and  his  deliberate  purpose  had  been  to  take 
the  captain  over  his  territories,  field  by  field,  and  extort  from 
him  at  each  some  admission  of  fault  or  ignorance.  It  was  with 
a  growl  that  he  yielded  to  the  very  decided  manner  of  his  supe 
rior  which  at  once  closed  the  door  against  further  "  question." 

The  day,  opened  as  we  have  seen  with  bustle  and  confusion, 
was  destined  to  be  a  busy  one.  Breakfast  was  sullenly  pre 
pared  by  Tom,  with  whom  the  whole  world  had  seemed  to  go 
wrong  from  the  moment  when  the  stump  of  Millhousc's  arm  that 
morning  had  made  so  free  with  his  sensibilities ;  and  Pomp, 
stupid  rather  than  savage,  was  serving  it  up  to  our  partisans,  as 
he  had  done  the  supper  the  night  before,  when  Fordham,  the 
overseer,  suddenly  cantered  up  to  the  house.  He  had  brought 
with  him  the  negro  who  had  gone  for  hoes  and  shovels,  with 
some  three  or  four  others,  similarly  provided;  for  the  purpose  of 
assisting  in  the  burial  of  the  outlaws.  This  was  due  to  the 
timely  suggestion  of  the  Widow  Eveleigh,  who,  the  night,  be 
tore,  had  given  the  overseer  his  instructions,  and  who  had 
expressed  herself  particularly  anxious  for  the  recovery  of  a  cer 
tain  mahogany  box,  which  she  urgently  counselled  him  to  look 
for  in  all  the  places  in  which  the  outlaws  had  been  seen  to  har 
bor  during  the  day  of  her  adventure.  She  did  not  tell  him  of 
the  contents  of  the  *box,  and  had  been  silent,  so  far  as  he  was 
concerned,  in  respect  to  the  paper  which  contained  the  memo 
randa  of  JYPKewn,  and  the  signature  of  that  amiable  pbilanthm 


208  WOODCRAFT. 

pist.  Fordham,  accordingly,  simply  stated  that  a  mahogany 
box  was  missing  containing  fifty  guineas  ;  and  we  may  mention 
in  this  place  that  Porgy,  his  followers,  and  the  negroes  gene 
rally,  all  busied  themselves  in  its  search  with  as  much  anxiety 
as  if  the  property  had  been  their  own.  But  the  labor  vas  una 
vailing,  and  the  search  was  finally  given  up  as  hopeless,  after  n 
persevering  scrutiny  in  swamp  and  thicket,  hiding-place  ar-o: 
hollow,  wherever  it  seemed  possible  or  plausible  to  think  'Jb-it 
the  outlaws  had  penetrated.  But  to  return. 

Fordham  was  invited  to  share  the  breakfast,  which  he  did 
with  right  good-will.  He  was  now  told  of  the  alarm  which  the 
party  had  had,  and  the  loss  which  they  had  suffered,  of  one  of 
the  captured  horses. 

"  Which  one,  cappin  ?"  demanded  Fordham. 

"  A  raw-bone  black." 

"Ah!" 

"  Da  Bossjck  hoss,  Mass  Fordham,"  quoth  Tom,  putting  in 
confidently.  "  Pomp  say  he  know  de  hoss,  and  John  Sylbester 
bin  tell  me  de  same  t'ing." 

"  He  look  like  hoss  I  bin  see  Bossick  ride  one  time." 

"  But  you  ain't  sartin,  Pomp  ?"  asked  Fordham. 

"  He  bin  ride  raw-bone  black,  one  time." 

"  It  may  be,"  said  Fordham.  "  Bostwick  is  not  too  good  for 
any  villany ;  and  we  have  good  reason  to  think  it  was  by  his 
means  that  your  niggers  and  Mrs.  Eveleigh's  was  carried  off  to 
the  British.  We  don't  know  for  sartin,  but  it's  mighty  like. 
Now,  I  have  hearn  of  Bostwick  riding  a  raw-hone  black,  hut  I 
don't  know  that  I  ever  seed  him  on  the  critter  in  my  life.  He's 
a  mighty  cute  fellow  that  never  lets  you  git  too  near  to  him. 
I'm  pretty  sure  he  headed  them  rascals  yesterday,  yet  I  never 
seed  one  man  more  than  another  that  I  could  lay  finger  on  for 
him  and  be  sart'in.  Yet  I  could  almost  swear  a  Bible  oath  that 
he  was  one  of  them,  and  one  of  the  worst.  There  was  one  on 
them  that  called  Jenny,  the  nigger  gal,  by  the  right  name ;  and 
I  reckon  he  was  the  one.  He  know'd  her  well,  and  let  the 
word  slip  owawar's." 

"Does  not  the  fellow  live  somewhere  *n  this  neighborhood 
still?"  demanded  Porgy. 

"Well,  thar's  no  telling  if  lie  lives  anywhar.     He's  never  tr 


RETURN    TO    Till-:    FIELD    OK    HATTLTO.  1>09 

be  seen  in  these  parts.  I  haven't  heard  of  him  for  a  year,  posi 
tive,  from  anybody  that  could  sw'ar  they  seed  him.  He's  got 
his  family  on  the  corner  of  Mrs.  Ev'leigh's  land,  and  not  far 
from  yours — jest  in  the  swamp,  and  not  a  half  a  mile  from  the 
river ;  but  I  reckon  he's  hardly  there  once  a  year.  The  family 
never  sees  much  of  him,  I'm  sartin." 

"  But  that  is  one  of  his  quartering  places.  We  must  roo'.  'em 
out,  Fordham ;  his  family  is  as  bad  as  himself.  Has  h'  any 
sons  ?"  ' 

"  A  lectle  boy,  only,  and  two  gals.  The  boy  is  just  ere  ^ping 
about.  The  two  gals  are  most  half  grown  —  one's  about  tv.  f,ive, 
I  reckon,  the  other  ten.  But,  Lord  love  you,  cappin,  then  A  no 
rooting  these  people  out.  It  would  be  the  cruellest  thinr  that 
you  could  do.  They  are  so  poor  and  miserable,  and  so  humble, 
and  the  poor  wife's  so  sad  and  heart-broken,  and  owliappy,  and 
the  gal  children  is  so  sweet,  and  so  mighty  pretty,  particularly 
the  oldest,  who's  a  born  beauty,  jest  like  the  darter  of  some 
great  people.  As  for  being  as  bad  as  himself,  that's  not  so,  cap- 
pin,  axing  your  pardon.  They're  good  people,  working  hard, 
night  and  day,  and  gitting  none  of  the  benefit  of  all  that  Bost- 
wick  aims  or  steals.  He's  hardly  ever  with  'em,  and  does  noth 
ing  for  'em  when  he  comes,  onless  for  the  oldest  gal,  and  they 
tells  me  that  he  pets  her  a  leetle,  and  according  to  his  humors. 
It's  a  hard  case  for  them  that  they  have  to  do  with  sich  a  born 
rascal ;  but  what's  to  help  it  1  The  poor  wife  can't  get  rid  of 
him  now;  and  the  poor  little  children — they  can  only  groan 
and  cry  together,  when  they're  by  themselves,  and  take  what 
the  marcy  of  God  sends  'em,  through  the  hands  of  their  neigh 
bors.  You  kain't  think  of  rooting  'em  out.  Mrs.  Ev'leigh  knows 
jest  as  well  as  anybody  what  Bostwick  is,  but  she  has  pity  on 
the  poor  wife  and  children.  She  gives  them  spinning  to  do,  and 
weaving,  and  the  oldest  darter  is  both  mighty  clever  to  work 
and  willing ;  and  it's  through  Mrs.  Ev'leigh  that  they  gits  on  at 
all :  but  for  her,  they'd  starve ;  she  feeds  'em,  and  physics  'em, 
and  clothes  'em  ;  and  yit  that  black-hearted  scamp,  Bostwick, 
has  been  about  the  worst  inimy  of  her  and  her  plantation,  that 
she  ever  had  in  thege  parts." 

"  Well,  Fordham,  I'm  sworn  to  do  this  poor  woman  and  her 
children  a  greater  charity  than  ever  Mrs.  E-eleigh  has  done — " 


210  WOODCRAFT. 

"All !  you  kain't  do  that  easily,  cappin." 

"I  will!" 

"  What's  that  ?" 

"  I've  sworn  by  Acheron  and  Styx,  to  see  Bostwick  hung  to 
the  first  good  swinging  limb  within  half  an  hour  after  I  lay  eyes 
upon  hhn." 

"And  may  God,  in  his  mnrcy,  grant  you  the  strength  and  the 
chance,  cappin,  to  keep  your  oath  !  That  would  be  a  great 
charity  I'm  consenting,  to  the  poor  woman  and  the  little  chicks; 
and  I'm  willing  to  take  a  hand  in  it,  whenever  you  are  ready  to 
tree  the  critter.  Kf  she  was  free  of  him,  she  wotfld  do  better, 
for  he  brings  her  no  help,  and  I'm  a-th inking  takes  away  from 
her  all  she  can  aim.  Besides,  people's  afear'd  to  hire  her  at 
their  places,  for  fear  they'll  bring  him  about  'em.  Kf  he  was 
dead  and  out  of  the  way,  she  would  be  a  thousand  times  better 
off." 

"We  must  pay  her  a  sudden  visit  to-day  —  try  to  ascertain 
if  he  has  been  there  lately,  and  when.  He  would  hardly  visit 
the  neighborhood  without  seeiner  them." 

Z3  O 

"That's  as  it  happens,  and  seems  advisable.  He  wouldn't 
irsk  a  hair  of  his  head  on  a  visit  to  them  at  any  time,  though 
the  niggers  do  say  that  he  loves  the  oldest  gal." 

"And  she's  a  beauty  ?" 

"A  ivzal  flower  of  the  forest,  cappin." 

"  Poor  thing  !     Why  don't  Mrs.  Evcleigh  take  her  home  ?" 

"She's  afear'd  of  the  father's  coming  about  the  place;  be 
sides,  the  mother  won't  let  her  leave  her.  She  says  she's  her 
only  comfort,  and  I  reckon  she  is.  She's  a  nzal  sweet,  smart, 
and  beautiful  little  critter." 

"  We'll  see  them  coming  back.  You  can  guide  us,  Fordham, 
for  I  pretty  much  forget  all  the  routes  in  this  quarter.  And  now, 
to  horse." 

"  But  what's  the  need  for  you  to  go,  cappin  ?"  demanded 
Fordham  and  Millhouse  in  the  same  breath.  "We  kin  bury 
these  blackguards,  and  look  up  for  the  box  without  troubling 
you ;  and  you  see  the  rain  keeps  on." 

"  A  fig  for  the  rain  !  After  soaking  for  seven  years  in  rain, 
and,  indeed,  all  sorts  of  liquors,  to  talk  to  me  now  of  another 
soaking  as  a  thing  to  skulk  from.  Shut  up,  my  good  fellows. 


RETURN    TO    TIIK    FIKLD    OF    HATTLE.  211 

Pomp,  my  horse  !  Besides,  liow  do  I  know  but  that  you  may 
Lave  customers  in  the  surviving  robbers.  A  couple  of  stout 
rascals,  in  ambush,  would  easily  settle  twice  their  number,  for 
your  negroes  could  never  be  relied  on.  Ho  !  Pomp  !" 

"  Wha*  mek'  you  holler,  maussa  ?  Enty  you  ;jee  de  hoss 
ready  by  de  tree.  All  ready  but  you  swode  and  pistols,  and  yer 
he  is." 

Thus  Tom,  with  sword  and  holsters  on  his  arm,  expostulated 
with  his  master  against  his  stentorian  utterance.  The  sword 
was  quietly  girded  about  the  waist  of  Porgy  by  Frampton,  while 
Tom  followed  with  the  holsters.  A  few  moments,  and  the  party 
moved  up  the  avenue,  all  mounted,  even  the  negroes,  who  car 
ried  their  hoes  and  shovels  across  their  thighs,  or  up  in  air,  aj 
the  Scythian  and  C-amanclie  robber  carries  his  spear,  and  wenl 
forth  better  pleased  with  the  idea  of  burying  their  dead,  thai 
with  that  of  going  into  battle. 

Their  farther  progress  requires  no  detailed  report.  They 
reached  the  skirmishing  ground  in  due  season,  and  reviewed  its 
aspects.  The  slain  outlaws  were  found  undisturbed  where  they 
liad  been  left,  and  were  buried  where  they  lay.  No  coffin  or 
shroud  enwrapped  the  forms  of  those  who  had  cast  themselves 
off  from  social  sympathies.  Holes  in  the  earth,  some  three  feet 
deep,  beyond  the  reach  of  wolf  and  wildcat,  sufficed  to  hide  them 
out  of  sight.  And  this  was  all.  The  negroes  heaved  up  the 
earth  in  mounds  above  them,  and  a  stake,  cut  from  the  woods, 
and  driven  down  at  the  head  of  the  grave,  indicated  to  the  way 
farer  the  place  of  human  sepulture,  in  that  wild  -spot,  and  remote 
from  settlement  or  church,  very  much  as  the  wayside  cross  in 
Spain  denotes  where  the  murdered  traveller  has  perished.  This 
duty  done,  and  the  search  after  the  lost  box  of  Mrs.  Eveleigh 
proving  ineffectual,  our  captain  of  partisans,  some  two  hours 
after  noon,  proposed  to  his  party  to  return.  All  assented  but 
Lance  Fiampton,  who  seemed  to  hesitate,  and,  by  his  manner, 
reminded  Porgy  of  the  young  man's  obligations  elsewhere. 

"  Ah !  Lance,  by  the  way,"  said  he,  "ride  over  and  see  Mrs 
Griffin  and  her  daughter.  It  js  but  two  miles  and  a  half  from 
us  where  we  stand,  and  a  shorter  distance,  by  twice  that  num 
ber,  than  if  you  go  back  with  us,  and  then  proceed.  You  can 
return  at  night,  or  not,  as  you  think  proper.  Of  course,  we 


212  WOODCRAFT. 

want  you,  if  you  can  be  spared,  and  will  keep  supper  for  you  till 
bedtime.  Go,  my  good  boy,  and  present  my  best  respects  to 
the  good  widow.  You  remember,  I  spend  the  day,  to-morrow, 
at  Mrs.  Eveleigh's,  and  shall  wish  you  to  accompany  me.  Mill- 
hoiuie  will  go,  also,  while  Tom  keeps  watch  at  home.  The  next 
day,  or  soon  after,  I  shall,  probably,  be  compelled  to  set  out  for 
the  city  to  get  supplies.  There  now,  my  lad,  you  have  all  my 
plans  for  the  present,  and  can  make  your  own  arrangements 
accordingly." 

"  Ef  you  are  riding  over  to  the  widow  Griffin's  now,  lieuten 
ant,"  said  Fordharn,  turning  to  the  youth,  "  be  so  good  as  to  say 
to  her,  that  I'll  send  the  peas  and  inyons  [onions]  over  to  her 
Saturday  night — that's  all." 

And  Lance  Frampton  rode  off  alone. 

"  And  now,  Fordham,"  said  Porgy,  "  lead  the  way  to  the 
wigwam  of  the  squatter.  Let  us  see  his  family  at  all  events, 
and  find  out,  if  we  can,  whether  he  has  been  there  lately." 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

BOSTWICK,  THE   SQUATTER,  AND    HIS    FAMILY. 

IT  is  time  that  we  should  return  to  the  recesses  of  the  swamp 
where  we  left  the  squatter,  Bostwick,  up  to  his  neck  in  water. 
No  condition  could  have  appeared  more  hopeless — no  situation 
more  humbling  or  perplexing.  It  is,  perhaps,  the  case  commonly, 
that  the  habitual  criminal  is  habitually  an  unthinking  person, 
else  how  should  the  utter  profitlessness,  and  certain  perils  of 
crime,  fail  to  impress  themselves  upon  the  mind  of  him  who 
toils  in  his  vocation  of  sin,  and  is  taught  by  the  bitter  experience 
of  each  day  the  terrible  truth  that  the  only  wages  he  can  earn 
in  this  employment,  is  shame  and  scorn,  and  foes,  and  ignominy 
and  death  !  What  had  been  Bostwick's  profits  in  his  career  ? 
As  he  muttered  more  than  once  to  himself,  standing  on  the  cold 
and  gl  oorny  hammock  : — 

"  I  have  nothing  to  show  !     M'Kewn  kin  show,  and  Moncrieff 


THE   SQCJATTEU,    BOSTWICK,    AND    MIS    KAMILV.          '2  In 

kin  show;  they've  got  the  money  and  the  goods;  they're  great 
men  in  the  world  and  rich  ;  but  I  —  I've  got  nothing  but  the 
danger,  and  the  cold,  the  iTsk  and  the  exposure,  the  empty 
pockets,  and  the  swinging  limb  !  Empty  pocket !  No  !  not  so 
bad  as  all  that,  either.  The  widow  said  there  was  fifty  guineas 
'n  her  box." 

The  miserable  wretch  found  his  temporary  consolation  in  this 
reflection.  His  comrades  had  mostly  perished.  He  had  nearly 
shared  their  fate.  The  plunderers  were  stripped.  They  who  went 
forth  to  shear,  came  home  shorn.  Even  his  horse  and  rifle  had 
disappeared  in  the  grasp  of  the  partisans;  and  they  were  a 
class  of  people  with  whom  long  experience  had  taught  him  that 
it  was  very  dangerous  to  meddle.  But  the  recollection  of  the 
widow's  strong  box  consoled  him  for  the  moment.  That  was 
safe.  He  had  hidden  it  beyond  the  search  and  suspicion  even 
of  his  comrades,  and  he  chuckled  to  himself,  even  in  that  gloomy 
hour,  at  the  cleverness  with  which  he  had  succeeded  in  doing  so. 
Fifty  guineas  were  in  that  box.  Fifty  guineas !  He  began  to 
calculate  how  long  they  were  to  last,  according  to  the  life  of 
riot,  drinking,  and  gaming,  which  he  led.  He  made  no  appro 
priations  of  any  portion  to  his  family.  They  had  no  such  need 
as  himself.  Fifty  guineas  !  and  the  papers.  They,  too,  must 
be  in  that  box ;  and  these  papers,  according  to  the  inadvertent 
admissions  of  M'Kewn,  were  important  to  his  safety. 

«  The  d d  skinflint !"  muttered  Bostwick  to  himself     "  He 

shall  pay  for  them  or  hang !  He  talks  of  me  hanging,  and  to 
my  face,  jest  as  ef  he  had  any  right  to  make  me  feel  onensy. 
But  we'll  see  who  has  most  right  to  hang.  We'll  see  who's  the 
rope  guine  to  fit  best.  The  mean,  dirty  scoundrel.  I  see  what 
he's  after;  but  I'll  put  a  spoke  in  that  wheel  will  upset  his 
carriage,  ef  he  don't  walk  a  safe  track  with  me.  He's  got 
property.  He's  a  great  man  now-a-days.  He's  bought  a  plan 
tation  here  jest  alongside  the  widow's,  and  who  but  he,  with  his 
niggers  and  lands  Ha  !  well !  He's  played  a  mighty  strong 
hand  in  the  game,  but  there's  a  trump  he  ain't  got,  and  ain't 
guine  to  git  till  he  agrees  to  share  the  stakes.  Let  him  try ! 
He  was  quite  a  clever  chap  among  the  British.  Lord  !  how 
they  loved  one  another";  and  he's  now  to  be  quite  a  clever  chap 
among  the  rebels  !  Well,  it's  for  me  to  say,  I  reckon,  how  much 


214  WOODCRAFT. 

love  is  !;o  be  lost  atween  'em.     Only  wait  \     I'll  wait — jesl  as 
long  as  it  suits  me.     But  now  for  the  box." 

And  threading  his  way  out  of  the  swamp,  with  the  ease  of 
one  who  had  never  walked  on  freer  or  firmer  ground,  he  pro 
ceeded  to  the  spot  in  the  woods  above,  not  a  hundred  yards 
from  the  place  where  the  widow's  carriage  had  been  brought  to 
a  halt,  in  which  the  box  had  been  safely  hid  away. 

He  found  it  even  where  he  sought.  He  held  it  up  to  the  light 
of  the  stars.  It  was  heavy,  but  it  was  locked.  The  key  had 
never  been  taken  from  the  possession  of  Mrs.  Eveleigh.  Her 
bunch  still  remained  in  her  pocket.  She  had  not  been  searched  ; 
but  would  have  been,  in  all  probability,  but  for  the  unexpected 
defeat  of  the  enterprise  of  the  outlaws.  But  the  want  of  the 
key  suggested  no  difficulty  to  our  squatter.  At  one  moment  lie 
had  lifted  up  the  box  to  dash  it  upon  a  stump,  the  short  process 
being  always  the  most  grateful  to  the  ruffian  for  attaining  his 
object.  But  he  arrested  himself. 

"  The  guineas  will  scatter,  and  I  kain't  afford  to  lose  the 
ugliest  on  'em." 

He  felt  for  his  knife.     It  was  gone — lost. 

"Never  mind!"  he  muttered,  "I  kin  wait  'till  I  git  to  see 
Rachel." 

Rachel — poor  Rachel — his  wife  !  He  thought  of  her  at  that 
moment,  not  as  one  whom  he  loved  or  cared  for,  but  as  the  crea 
ture  from  whom  he  might  find  service  —  obtain  the  implement 
which  should  give  him  access  to  a  more  precious  treasure.  He 
started  off  with  the  box  under  his  arm.  His  swiftness  of  foot 
seemed  uudimmished  by  the  day's  fatigue.  He  was  one  of  those 
sinewy,  lean,  elastic,  beings  of  iron  —  hardihood  and  endurance 
—  who  seem  never  to  have  enjoyed  life,  yet  are  equal  to  all  its 
requisitions.  In  training,  like  most  people  of  the  same  descrip 
tion  of  life  in  the  same  region,  he  was  an  Indian  —  could  outwind 
a  horse  in  a  day's  journey,  and  never  appear  to  suffer  from  thirst 
or  hunger.  He  had  short  cuts  through  swamp  and  thicket, 
known  to  few  besides  himself,  and  in  half  the  time  occupied  by 
our  partisans  on  horse,  he  made  his  way,  on  foot,  to  the  swamp 
margins  of  the  plantations  of  Mrs.  Eveleigh  and  Captain  Porgy. 
Within  half  a  mile  atood  the  wigwam  T)f  his  wretched  family. 
[<•  occupied  a  place  h<uf  hidden  in  a  little  clump  of  woods,  noar 


THE   SQUATTER,    BOSTWICK,    ANT)    HIS   FAMILY. 

which  stretched  a  small  cornfield  of  a  few  acres,  the  old  decay 
ing  stalks  crumbling  over  the  spot  where  they  had  feebly  grown, 
lie  again  concealed  his  box,  this  time  in  the  hollow  of  a  cypress, 
when  about  to  emerge  from  the  cover  of  the  swamp.  He 
did  not  approach  his  own  dwelling  without  the  greatest  caution, 
lie  knew  not  what  sort  of  customers  he  was  to  encounter  in  the 
neighborhood.  Winding'  about  the  woods  wherever  a  cover 
could  be  found,  he  gradually  drew  nigh  to  the  rear  of  the  habi 
tation  which  he  skirted  cautiously.  The  hum  of  the  spinning- 
wheel  alone  reached  his  cars  from  within.  He  stole  up  to  the 
habitation  and  peeped  through  a  crevice  between  the  logs.  We 
will  follow  his  example. 

The  wig  wain  was  one  of  the  meanest  sort  of  log-houses,  not 
more  than  sixteen  by  twenty  feet  —  built  of  slender  pine  poles, 
which  were  already  greatly  decayed.  The  spaces  had  been 
closed  with  clay,  but  this  had  mostly  fallen  out.  Originally,  the 
house  had  been  clap-lwirded  (a  large,  coarse,  and  inferior  shin 
gle)  with  split  pine,  and  fastened  down  by  wooden  pegs.  Much 
of  the  rooting  had  decayed,  and  the  openings  were  thatched 
with  broom-grass  and  pine  straw  —  a  very  slight  and  imper 
fect  shelter  for  the  encounter  with  our  March  and  September 
winds.  But  there  was  an  additional  protection  in  a  great  live 
oak,  of  a  thousand  generations,  which  overspread  the  roof  on 
the  northern  side,  the  branches  resting  upon  it,  and,  when  stirred 
,:>y  the  wind,  making  such  a  strange  scraping  along  the  clap 
boards —  as  if  a  score  of  wild  cats  were  striving  to  scratch  their 
way  —  as  would  have  startled  one,  not  familiar  with  the  noise, 
with  a  thousand  staggering  apprehensions — particularly  at  mid 
night.  But  our  squatters  family  heard  nothing,  or  if  they  did, 
the  sounds  had  become  companionable,  and  thus  agreeable.  We 
are  not  sure  that  the  wife  of  the  squatter  did  not  find  it  a  great 
relief  to  listen  to  the  disordered  branches,  in  the  long,  weary 
hours  of  the  night,  when  the  children  were  all  asleep,  but  when 
the  blessing  of  sleep  was  denied  her  eyes.  The  poor,  subdued, 
faint-spirited  woman,  she  sat  within,  knitting  her  worsted  and 
cotton  into  thick  stockings  for  the  ungrateful  wretch  who  peered, 
unsuspected,  between  the  logs,  and  beheld  her  occupation. 

She  was  a  thin,  frail,  pale-faced  body,  with  fair  complexion 
still,  of  soft,  sad  eyes,  the  only  remains  of  a  once  girlish  beauty. 


210  WOODOllAFT. 

Her   look   almost   vacant,    was   fixed   upon    me   rfre.     Her    dress 
wus  of  the  plainest  sort  of  blue  homespun  —  her  own  manufac 
ture —  but  it  was  scrupulously  neat  and  clean.     She  seemed  to 
work  unconsciously,  as  if  from  habit;  yet    her   fingers  traversed 
the    needles   and    passed   the  threads  with    the   rapidity  of   one 
whose  whole  soul  was  in  the  task.     At  the  other  corner  of  the 
fireplace,   stood  her   eldest    daughter,  whom    she   called    Dory. 
Her    proper    name    was    Dorothy.     It    was    her   spinning-wheel 
whose  song  saluted   the  ears  of   Bostwick  as  he  approached  the 
house.     Dory,  although  still  but  twelve  years  old,  was  an  adept 
at  all  her  labors.     Nobody  —  it  was  her  mother's  boast  —  could 
spin  better  than  Dory,  a  finer  or  a  stronger  thread.     And  Dory 
could  weave  also,  quite  as  well  as  her  mother.     The  child  was 
nearly   as   strong.     Indeed,   responsibilities,   at   an   early   period, 
had    matured   her    mind    and    body   very   equally.     They   grew 
together,  and  therefore  both  grew  strong-.     The  child  might  have 
passed  for  a  girl  of  fifteen,  so  well  was  she  developed.     When 
you  looked  at  her  face  she  seemed  still  older  —  there  was  such 
a  sad,  settled,  and  profound  expression  in  the  sweet  symmetrical 
and  chastened  features.     She  was  very  fair,  though  she  bore  the 
fuel  from  the  woods,  and  the  water  from  the  spring.     She  wTas 
tall,  and,  moving   to  and  fro  about  the  spinning-wheel,  she  ex 
hibited  a  natural  grace  such  as  an  humble  life  like  her's  seldom 
displays.     Her  hair,    a  rich    auburn,    curled  and   floated    free  in 
long   silken    tresses,  having    escaped    from   the   massy    folds   in 
•which  she  commonly  kept  it  bound.     She,  too,  was  clad  in  the 
simplest  homespun,  and    her   naked  feet  and    ankles,  in  conse 
quence    of    the   scantiness  of    her    dress,  were  conspicuous  upon 
the    floor.     But    the  flour  was  kept    tidily  clean.     If    there  was 
poverty  in  the   dwelling,   there  was    evidently  a   natural    purity 
also,  which  reconciled  the  spectator  to  the  scene. 

The  other  children  of  the  squattor,  were  asleep  in  a  pallet  in 
one  corner  of  the  room.  There  was  no  separate  apartment. 
Dory  slept  with  her  mother  in  the  father's  absence,  and  when 
he  came  home  she  crouched  in  with  Bet,  her  younger  sister, 
and  Benny,  the  infant  boy.  The  mother's  bedstead,  was  a 
rude  frame  work  of  pine,  clumsily  executed  by  n  country  car 
penter.  There  was  a  single  pine  table  in  the  room,  and  four 
chairs,  bottomed  with  cowhide,  This  wras  all  the  furniture.  A 


THE    SQUATTEE,    BOSTWJCK,    AND   HIS   FAMILY.        ML? 

fe\v  gourds  containing  seeds  and  spices  liung  against  the  walls. 
A  slielf  outside  sustained  the  water  bucket.  In  a  corner  of  the 
lireplace  was  an  iron  pot,  and  in  a  nook  of  the  -chamber  was 
leaned  a  frying-pan.  The  fragment  of  a  mirror,  without  frame, 
a  trimmed  bit  of  glass,  of  a  few  inches  at  most  each  way,  was 
fastened  by  pegs  against  one  of  the  logs  over  the  fireplace. 

Such  was  the  picture,  lightened  up  fully  by  the  blaze  from 
half-dozen  pine  knots,  which  hissed  and  sparkled  in  the  hearth, 
giving  light  and  heat  equally.  The  very  poor,  in  all  the  south, 
rarely  use  candles,  or  those  of  their  own  making  only.  The 
squatter's  wife  had  hers,  it  is  true,  a  small  supply,  made  of 
tallow  and  myrtle  wax,  but  these  were  to  be  used  only  on 
particular  occasions.  They  were  made  by  Dory,  and  were  too 
precious  to  be  wasted.  But  this  was  not  a  consideration  with 
Bostwick.  lie  consumed  them  whenever  he  came  home,  with 
little  heed  to  the  poor  child  whose  means  were  so  small,  and 
whose  labors  were  so  heavy.  Yet  the  miserable  wretch  loved 
this  child  as  well  as  he  could  love  any  human  being — -infinitely 
more  than  he  loved  the  mother.  lie  was  sensible  of  her  beauty 
—  her  eye  sensibly  impressed  him.  To  her  he  was  never  brutal, 
seldom  harsh.  To  all  others  of  the  family  he  was  cold  or  trucu 
lent.  Something  in  her  glance  seemed  to  impress  him  with 
respect,  if  not  awe.  She  did  not  shrink  from,  yet  did  not  seek 
to  conciliate  him.  She  felt,  and  resented  by  her  withdrawl, 
his  brutalities  to  her  mother.  She  submitted  to  his  endearments, 
yet  never  returned  them.  Her  instincts — shall  we  not  say  her 
thoughts  —  were  all  at  war  with  his  nature,  and  the  habits  in  which 
he  indulged.  She  had  courage,  too,  and,  never  once  forgetting 
that  he  was  her  father,  she  could  yet  venture  upon  terms  of 
rebuke  and  reproach,  at  moments  when  his  excesses  revolted 
her,  such  as  became  singularly  impressive,  spoken  by  the  lips 
of  a  child,  and  in  the  unsophisticated  language  of  the  heart. 
Still  he  loved  her,  after  a  fashion  —  loved  her  with  a  sort  of  rev 
erence,  as  she  represented  to  his  eyes  that  higher  phase  of  so 
ciety  to  which  he  felt  that  he  himself  could  never  aspire,  and  to 
which,  as  is  commonly  the  case  w:'th  the  class  to  which  he  be 
longed,  he  looked  ever  with  feelings  of  envy  and  desire. 

He  announced  his  presence  to  the  inmates  of  the  hovel,  by  a 
peculiar  whistle  through  the  logs.  The  girl  looked  quietly  at 

10 


218  WOODCRAFT. 

her  mother,  but  said  nothing.  The  woman  started  up,  all  in  a 
terror,  and  hastened  to  draw  the  bolt  of  the  door  arid  give  him 
entrance. 

' '  What !     Bostwick  !     You've  come !  " 

"Don't  you  see  me?  Well,  Dory,  hev'  you  got  nothing  to 
say  to  me? " 

"Howdye,  father,"  and  the  wheel  was  stopped,  and  she  offered 
her  hand.  He  kissed  her,  but  not  the  mother;  and  frequent 
repulses  had  taught  the  latter  not  to  attempt  to  bestow  her  kisses 
upon  him. 

"  You're  all  well,  I  reckon?" 

"Yes!"  faintly  answered  the  woman,  as  she  resumed  her  seat 
by  the  fire,  and  her  knitting,  after  drawing  a  chair  for  him. 
Dory  resumed  her  spinning  at  the  same  time. 

"What!  the  d — 1,"  said  he,  "a'n't  you  guine  to  git  me 
some  supper?" 

And  he  flung  himself  into  the  chair,  and  looked  fiercely  at 
the  wife. 

"We  hain't  got  much,''  replied  the  woman,  meekly,  rising  at 
the  same  moment  and  proceeding  to  one  side  of  the  chimney 
where  some  clothes  were  hanging,  forming  a  sort  of  curtain. 

"Much  or  lectle,  let's  hev'  it;  I'm  hungry  to  kill.  Got  any 
thing  to  drink  ? " 

"Not  a  drop,  but  I'll  make  you  some  coffee.  Sam,  el  you'll 
wait  for  it." 

"Wait!  Humph!  Git  it!  But  first,  let  me  hev' a  big  knife, 
ef  you've  got  one,  and  your  tinder-box  and  steel. " 

"Why,  what's  become  of  yours,  Sam?" 

"What's  that  to  you?     It's  lost  somewhere." 

'  'And  you've  been  in  the  water,  Sam !  " 

"Yes?  hev'  you  got  any  dry  clothes  for  me?" 

"There's  the  old  scarlet  breeches  of  the  officer,  and  the  coat, 
gam » 

"Won't  do;  scarlet  won't  do  for  my  wearing  now.  That 
time's  gone.  You  must  dye  them  clothes,  before  I  can  wear  'em. 
Dye  'em  blue  or  green,  either." 

"You  come  on  foot,  father?"  queried  Dory. 

' '  Well,  ef  I  did,  Dory,  I  reckon  foot  was  given  me  to  come 
on." 


THE  SQUATTER  BOSTWICK,  AND  HIS  FAMILY.  219 

"  But  you  hev'n't  sold  Black  Ball? " 

"  Sold  him!  Yes!  Perhaps!  a  sort  of  mortgage,  I  reckon; 
but  what's  the  matter?  Suppose  I  hev'  sold  him,  who's  to  ax 
about  the  bargain?  Mind  your  own  business,  child." 

The  girl  looked  at  him,  quietly,  and  the  brute  turned  his  eyes 
upon  the  fire.  He  somehow  couldn't  meet  her  glance.  The 
mother,  spreading  the  table  the  Avhile,  with  a  rare  inexperience, 
took  up  the  inquisition. 

"And  where's  your  rifle,  Sam?  You  didn't  bring  it  with 
you?" 

"Look  you,  woman,  I  didn't  come  here  to  answer  questions. 
Suppose  I  left  horse  and  rifle  in  the  swamp,  it's  what  I've  had 
to  do  a  thousand  times,  and  I  had  my  reasons  for  it;  only  do 
you  recollect,  keep  your  tongue  close  when  you  talks  to  other 
people  about  my  horse  and  rifle,  and  about  me,  too,  ef  you 
please.  You  don't  know  how  soon  you  may  be  axed.  And 
look  you,  Rachel,  when  you've  got  to  answer,  see  that  you  do  it 
yourself.  Don't  leave  it  to  Dory.  You  kain't  trust  her.  She 
don't  love  her  father  enough,  to  say  what  may  save  him  from  the 
inimy." 

"  But  you've  got  no  inimy  now,  father.  Why  should  you  have 
an  inimy?  Don't  they  say  it's  peace,  now?  " 

"Peace!  As  ef  there  was  any  peace  for  me!  I  tell  you  the 
whole  country's  sworn  agin  me,  only  because  $  wants  to  git  my 
living  out  of  it.  But  that's  neither  here  nor  there.  You  'mem 
ber,  now,  you  don't  know  nothing  about  me : —  ef  you're  axed, 
you  reckon  I've  left  the  country.  I  hain't  boon  here.  I've  got  no 
black  horse  —  remember  that  in  preticklar!  That's  enough! 
Where's  the  knife  I  axed  you  for? " 

"  It's  here !"  said  the  mother,  handing  him  a  clumsy  blade,  set 
in  a  common  wooden  handle.  He  looked  at  it  scornfully. 

"It's  the  best  we've  got,"  said  the  woman,  apologetically. 

"And  good  enough,  too,  for  all  you  want  with  it.  Now,  git 
the  coffee  ready  by  the  time  I  git  back." 

With  these  words,  grasping  knife,  flint,  steel,  and  tinder-box, 
he  rose  and  hurriedly  left  the  dwelling.  The  moment  he  had  dis 
appeared,  the  mother  said  — 

"I  wonder  whnt  he's  after  now.  I'm  afraid  it's  no  good. 
Lord,  ef  he'd  only  stay  quiet  at  home,  and  make  corn  for  his 


220  WOODCRAFT. 

family;  but  there's  no  such  comfort  for  us,  Dory,  I'm  afeard. 
He's  got  the  habit  of  going  off,  and  doing  God  knows  what ;  and 
we  must  only  work  as  we  kin,  to  keep  from  starvation." 

The  girl  was  silent  for  a  spare,  and  the  mother,  in  the  mean 
time,  spread  the  table,  got  out  some  cold  meat,  and  kneaded  the 
dough  into  a  hoe-cake,  Avhich  was  set  promptly  before  the  fire  to 
bake.  She  had  resumed  her  seat,  when  Dory,  pausing  at  her 
wheel,  remarked  quietly  and  gently,  but  with  that  air  of  certainty 
which  truth,  simplicity,  and  earnest  conviction  will  inspire,  at  all 
times,  even  in  a  child,  and  which  crown  its  words  with  a  degree 
of  authority : — 

"I  wouldn't  be  asking  father  any  more  questions,  mother. 
It  does  no  good,  and  only  makes  him  angry.  He  don't  mind 
what  we  say,  and  wre  can't  help  it  when  he  loses  anything, 
lie's  always  losing,  and  coming  home  poor  and  wanting;  and 
he  don't  like  to  tell  us  how  he  came  to  lose.  He's  in  some 
great  trouble  now,  and  you'd  better  not  speak  to  him  about  it. 
1  reckon  he's  not  going  to  stay  now  he's  come;  but  1  wouldn't 
ask  him." 

"Ah,  Dory,  it's  easy  for  you  to  talk  so;  but  when  I  know  — 
when  I  know  — 

Here  the  mother  sobbed  and  wiped  her  eyes  with  her  apron. 
What  did  she  know?  and  why  did  she  forbear  to  declare  it?  The 
girl  had  no  answer  and  no  inquiry.  The  wheel  whizzed  round 
more  rapidly  than  ever.  The  mother  spoke  again. 

"It's  fifteen  years  a'most  sence  we  were  married.  Then  lie  was 
so  fond  of  keeping  at  home.  Then  he  wasn't  so  tierce  and  fretful 
as  he  is  now.  Then  he  didn't  drink  and  there  wasn't  a  more 
active  person  in  the  world,  in  the  cornfield.  Oh !  it  was  a  cruel 
day  when  he  fell  into  the  hands  of  Dick  Jeffords  —  a  cruel  day. 
He's  never  been  the  same  man  sence.  Dick  Jeffords  taught  him 
all  that  he  knows  of  wickedness  —  taught  him  to  drink  —  taught 
him  to  — 

Another  pause,  and  sobbing  and  wiping  of  the  eyes. 

"But  Dick  Jeffords  is  dead,  mother,"  said  the  girl.  "Don't 
you  talk  so  of  him." 

"And  why  shouldn't  I  talk  of  him,  when  he  was  the  cause  of 
all  the  mischief " 

"Hush!    mother!"    with    a   warning    linger,    said    the    child 


THE  SQUATTER'S  TREASURES.  221 

pointing  toward  the  door.  "Her  keen  ears  had  distinguished  iho 
light  footsteps  of  the  squatter.  The  mother  stooped  to  turn  her 
hoe-cake,  and  the  wheel  continued  its  evolutions  even  more  rapidly 
than  ever. 


OHAPTEE    XXXIV. 

« 
THE  SQUATTER'S   TREASURES,    KNOWN   AND 

THE  squatter,  meanwhile,  armed  with  knife  and  tinder-box, 
hurried  away  to  the  edge  of  the  swamp,  eager  to  examine  his 
casket  of  ill-gotten  treasures.  He  drew  the  box  of  Mrs.  Eveleigh 
from  the  hollow  of  the  cypress,  and  upon  a  little  bank  in  the 
swamp,  surrounded  by  a  wall  of  forest  and  swamp,  thicket,  shrubs, 
vines  and  trees,  he  proceeded  to  strike  a  light.  It  required  but 
a  few  moments  after  this,  to  pry  open  the  cover  of  the  box,  which 
was  much  better  suited  to  a  lady's  toilet,  than  for  the  purpose  of 
keeping  or  securing  a  treasure.  The  guineas  were  the  first  objects 
that  compelled  his  attention.  They  were  contained  in  a  small 
linen  bag.  He  counted  them  religiously,  and  then  proceeded  to 
turn  over  the  rest  of  the  contents  of  the  box,  which  was  pretty 
closely  packed  with  papers.  He  was  able  neither  to  read  nor 
write.  He  took  for  granted  that  the  paper,  which  M'Kewn  so 
much  desired,  was  among  them,  but  the  point  was  one  beyond  his 
capacity  to  determine. 

"It's  here,  I  reckon,  safe  with  the  rest;  but  won't  he  pay  for 
it  when  he  gits  it." 

His  curiousity  was  satisfied,  if  not  his  cupidity.  One  would 
suppose  that  his  first  act  would  be  to  convey  to  his  wife  and  chil 
dren  a  small  portion,  at  least,  of  the  golden  spoils  in  his  posession, 
But  he  was  too  selfish  and  to  wary  for  that.  His  cunning  did  not 
suffer  him  to  risk,  in  their  hands,  any  proof  that  might 
facilitate  his  detection.  It  seems  that  some  suggestion  did 
arise  in  his  mind,  prompting  him  to  dotach  a  guinea,  to  be 
given  to  Dory.  He  spoke  of  her  affectionately,  and  turned  the 


222  WOODCKAFT. 

glittering  com,   separated  from  "hi»pile,"  between  thumb  and 
forefinger. 

"But  where's  the  use?"  he  muttered;  "and  ef  they  was  to  ax 
where  she  got  it,  what  is  she  guine  to  say? " 

He  restored  it  to  the  heap,  restored  the  bag  to  the  box,  with 
all  tl'c  papers,  and  restored  the  box  to  the  hollow  of  the  cypress, 
the  base  of  which  was  encircled  by  a  thick  shrubbery.  This 
done,  he  made  his  way  back  to  the  cottage,  where  his  supper 
of  bacon,  corn-bread  and  coffee  already  awaited  him.  He  flung 
the  knife  down  upon  the  table,  and  proceeded  to  eat,  but  had 
scarcely  begun,  when  he  commanded  that  the  spinning-wheel 
should  stop. 

"The  blasted  noise  keeps  a  body  fr^om  hearing  anything. 
Ef  an  inimy  was  at  the  door,  nobody  could  know  tell  they 
bur&Ud  in." 

The  girl  obeyed,  put  her  cotton  into  the  basket,  and  removed 
the  wheel  to  a  corner  of  the  room!  She  then  disappeared  be 
hind  the  curtain  of  clothes,  and  when  she  again  came  forth,  and 
drew  near  the  fire,  he  perceived  that  she  had  a  book  in  her 
hand.  Dory  had  been  taught  to  read  by  her  mother,  and  loved 
her  book.  The  eyes  of  the  squatter  did  not  suffer  her  long  from 
sight, 

"A  book!"  said  he,  "and  what  sort  of  book  is  it,  you've 
got?" 

"It's  the  Holy  Bible,  father." 

"The  Holy  Bible !  and  what  do  you  know  about  the  Holy  Bible, 
and  where  did  you  get  it,  I  want  to  know?  You  hain't  been 
spending  money,  or  your  airnings,  upon  a  thing  that's  no  account, 
Lev'  you?" 

"No,  father;  'twas  given  to  me  by  Mrs.  Eveleigh." 

"Well,  she  might  hev'  given  you  something  to  be  more  useful 
to  you.  She's  rich;  she  might  hev' given  you  some  good  clothes, 
I'm  a-thinking,  ef  she'd  ha'  wanted  to  do  a  good  thing  for  you. 
But  these  great  rich  folk  are  all  as  mean  as  h-11 ! " 

"Mrs.  Eveleigh  ain't  mean,  father;  and  she  has  given  me 
clothes,"  replied  the  child. 

"She  has,  has  she?  what?  the  frock  you've  got  on,  I  reckon." 

"No;  I  made  that  myself.  She's  given  me  good  clothes  tc 
Wear  when  I  go  out,  and  on  a  Sunday." 


THE  SQUATTER'S  TREASURES.  223 

"  Sunday  !  as  cf  there  ever  was  a,  buiiday  for  a  poor  man  !  Let 
"me  look  at  the  book. " 

She  handed  it  to  him  without  a  word,  and  he  furm-d  it  over 
curiously.  It  was  not  a  costly  book;  had  it  been — had  the  edges 
been  of  gold,  and  the  back  richly  adorned  with  the  same  metal  — 
it  is  quite  probable  that  the  perverse  wretch  would  have  been 
tempted  to  throw  it  into  the  tire.  As  it  was,  he  thrust  it  back 
into  the  child's  hands,  saying  : — 

"And  what's  the  good  of  it  to  you  ?  You  kain't  understand  it 
even  ef  you  reads  it. " 

«'Oh?  yes  I  can,  father." 

"Let  me  hear  you  read  some  —  thar',  jest  where  the  paper's 
been  turned  down.  I'll  see  ef  you  ain't  been  reading  how  to  curse 
your  own  daddy." 

The  child  gave  him  but  a  single  look,  but  it  made  him  restless. 
He  could  not  meet  the  clear,  calm  glance  fixed  upon  his  own.  He 
turned  his  gaze  upon  the  fire,  but  repeated  — 

"Read,  I  say  —  let's  hear  what  sort  of  bible  Taming  yor're 
a-getting.  Read  where  you've  put  the  mark.  That  a  man's  own 
children  should  turn  agin  him  !  " 

The  child  gave  him  another  look,  so  simple,  so  expressive  —  of 
a  calm,  unspeaking,  submissive  sorrow,  the  most  touching  of  all 
sorts  of  reproach :  then  turning  to  the  book  she  began  to  read 
from  the  New  Testament,  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles,  the  first 
chapter,  just  where  the  leaf  had  been  turned  down;  but  scarcely 
had  she  got  through  three  paragraphs,  when  the  squatter  started 
up,  having  by  this  time  finished  eating,  and,  swallowing  a  pint  of 
coffee  at  a  gulph,  he  cried  out :  — 

"That's  enough  !  It's  mighty  good,  what  you're  reading,  I'm 
a- thinking,  for  a  gal  child.  But  it's  no  use.  There's  no  apostles, 
now-a-days.  At  least,  I  never  hear  tell  of  any  merracles  now,  or 
I  reckon  I  might  have  a  chance  of  being  saved  myself.  But, 
without  a  merraeie,  \'m  pretty  much  past  saving,  so  it's  no  use  to 
try.  Shut  up,  Dory;  you  kin  read  to  your  mammy  after  I'm  gone. 
I  must  be  off." 

"What!"  cried  the  poor  mother,  "you're  not  a  guine,  Sam, 
at  this  late  time  o'  night." 

"And  what  should  I  stay  for?  Don't  I  know  there's  none  of 
you  hev'  any  love  to  spare  for  me  here." 


224:  AYOODCIiA-FT. 

"  Oh  !  don't  say  so,  Sammy ;  don't  ! " 

' '  Pooh  !  Git  out  !  Don't  suppose  I'm  fool  as  well  as  scamp. 
You're  too  full  of  good  books  and  good  women  here  to  have 
any  likings  for  sich  as  me.  Kiss  me,  Dory,  you're  a  good  child 
for  a  gal.  I  don't  say  you  shan't  read  the  book  the  widow  give 
you,  only  I  don't  care.  You  may  read,  for  the  good  'twill  do 
you.  'Twon't  do  me  none.  Blast  all  the  gifts  of  your  rich 
people.  They  only  burn  the  heart  out.  What's  good  you  kin 
git  out  of 'them,  is  what  you  kin  take  !  I'm  off;  and  look  you, 
Rachel,  mind  what  I  say.  Ef  you're  axed,  you  don't  know 
nothing  about  me.  You  ain't  seed  me  you  don't  know  when, 
and,  as  for  a  horse,  you  don't  reckon  I've  had  one  for  a  year, 
not  since  the  blasted  men  of  Harden  carried  off  my  bay  trotter. 
Blast  all  their  two  legs  for  ever  for  it.  Don't  you  let  Dory  say 
nothing.  She  don't  know  how  to  speak  sensible  in  such  cases. 
Good-by,  Dory." 

And  he  AY  as  gone  —  gone  out  into  the  darkness  —  lost  to  sight 
as  to  hope.  Not  another  word  of  kindness  or  farewell.  None 
in  fact,  to  the  poor  woman  who  followed  him  to  the  door,  as  if 
entreating  for  it.  Not  even  a  glance  to  the  poor  children  sleep 
ing  on  the  pallet,  the  eldest  of  whom,  awakened  by  the  unusual 
voice,  raised  herself  up  in  the  bed,  and  looked,  but  did  not  dare 
to  make  herself  heard.  She  had  old  experience  of  blows,  sud 
denly  and  sharply  administered,  to  admonish  her  against  any 
childlike  and  loving  forwardnesses.  Besides,  the  watchful  mother 
had  seen,  and  pushed  her  back,  under  the  scanty  covering, 
with  — 

"Lie  still,  Bet,  it's  pappy  !" 

Dreadful  sound  with  which  to  quiet  the  baby  !  the  baby  was 
quiet  for  the  rest  of  the  night.  But  he  was  gone,  and  then  the 
woman  sat  down  and  wept  over  the  fireplace. 

"Ef  he  had  only  shaken  hands,  Dory,  and  told  me  good-by, 
my  child;  but  no  !  He  wouldn't  care  ef  I  was  on  my  cooling 
board  to-morrow." 

The  girl  began  quietly  to  read  the  chapter  in  the  Acts  which 
she  had  attempted  at  her  father's  bidding,  and  her  low,  soft  voice, 
still  that  of  a  child,  delivered  the  inspired  sentences  in -good  time, 
and  with  very  tolerable  discretion,  but  without  emphasis,  and 
with  the  simplicity  of  one  who  did  not  fully  comprehend  what 


THE  SQUATTER'S  TREASURES.  225 

she  was  reading.  When  she  had  finished  and  put  away  the  book, 
the  mother  said  — 

"I  know  it's  good  to  hear  and  to  read  the  blessed  book,  but 
my  heart  ain't  in  it.  I  don't  feel  it  at  all.  I  feel  only  that  I  am  a 
very  great  sinner,  very  poor  and  miserable." 

"We  must  pray  now,  mother,  you  know." 

And  the  two  dropped  upon  their  knees,  while  the  child  alone 
audibly  uttered  ' '  Our  Father. " 

Let  us  leave  them  to  such  sleep  as  God  vouchsafes  to  the  suf 
ferer,  more  sinned  against  than  sinning,  and  follow  the  footsteps 
of  the  squatter,  reckless  of  the  peace  he  outrages,  and  quite  inca 
pable  of  conceiving  the  purity  he  leaves  behind  him. 

* '  Acts  of  the  Apostles, "  quoth  he,  as  he  darted  forward  in  the 
direction  of  the  highlands.  "  They  sarved  for  their  time.  There's 
no  Apostles  now,  I  reckon,  to  do  any  more  acts  for  poor  people. 
Sich  as  preaches  to  us  now  don't  help  much.  Lord  !  what  war- 
mints.  I've  hearn  a  hundred  that  hadn't  any  more  sense,  and  I 
reckon,  warn't  no  better,  ef  the  truth  was  known,  than  myself. 
They  talk  and  they  talk,  about  it  and  about  it,  and  all  what  they 
says  don't  consarn  us  at  all,  and  don't  suit.  One  speaks  mighty 
big  about  luxuries  and  fine  linen,  yit  I  never  seed  one  yit  that 
warn't  ready  to  swig  the  best  of  liquors  at  a  rich  man's  table,  and 
to  eat  onteli  he  was  ready  to  burst ;  and  which  of  'em  ever 
refused  the  best  of  English  broadcloth  for  his  back.  There  was 
Joe  Downs,  and  Ephraim  Sparkin,  and  Jake  Frisbie,  and  a  hun 
dred  more  I've  know'd,  that  was  all  jest  too  lazy  for  any  work, 
and  so  they  set  up  to  be  apostles  ;  living  from  house  to  house, 
never  paying  for  nothing  ;  never  refusing  good  feed  and  liquor, 
and  jest  talking  things  they  didn't  onderstand.  No !  the  days 
for  Apostles  is  at  an  eerid,  and  men  does  just  what  act  suits  'em 
best.  So  I  does  mine.  'Taint  so  good  as  it  mout  be,  but  ef  I 
can  git  back  the  old  Black,  with  fifty  gould  guineas  in  hand,  and 
what  I  kin  squeeze  out  of  M'Kewn,  I'll  do  for  awhile  yit.  It's  a 
resk  to  try,  but  what's  to  be  done?  I  shan't  walk  when  I  kin  ride, 
and  ef  I  take,  its  only  my  own." 

Such  were  the  meditations  which  led  to  the  attempt  of  the 
squatter.  We  have  seen  how  it  succeeded.  Once  more  mounted, 
though  with  the  pistol  bullets  of  Lance  Frampton  whistling  about 
his  ears,  and  he  felt  his  strength  and  courage  equally  increase 

10* 


226  WOODCRAFT. 

He  never  thought  to  return  to  the  cottage.  He  felt  very  sure 
that  it  would  soon  have  a  score  of  visitors.  He  had  .striven  hard 
iO.  disguise  and  concealment,  hut  his  instinct  taught  him  that  lie 
VV.C.M  he  suspected.  The  neighborhood  would  he  quite  too  hot, 
in  a  few  hours,  for  his  safety.  He  gave  it  a  wide  berth,  accord 
ingly,  and  making  a  circuit,  which  carried  him  far  above  the 
miserable  hovel  which  his  family  occupied,  he  proceeded  to  de 
scend  the  country,  making  an  oblique  progress  toward  the  Edisto 
—  Let  us  return  to  Porgy  and  his  party. 


CHAPTER   XXXV. 

HOW    MILUfOUSE    REBUKES    THE    EXTRAVAGANCE    OF    PORUY. 

THE  poor  woman,  the  wife  of  the  squatter,  was  half-scared  to 
death  when  she  saw  the  squad  of  our  partisans  approach  her 
dwelling.  Rho.  at  once  conjectured  that  the  squatter  had  been 
at  his  old  tricks,  and  that  the  enemy  was  upon  his  footsteps. 
Cadaverously  pale,  trembling  in  every  limb,  she  staggered  to 
her  bedside,  and  sank  upon  it,  faintly  exclaiming  as  they  ap 
proached  the  house  — 

"  Oh  !  Dory,  they've  come  after  him." 

"  Lie  down,  mother,  and  let  me  speak  to  the  gentlemen,"  said 
'Uie  little  girl. 

"  You,  Dory  !  oh,  no  !  You  remember  he  told  me,  you  were 
not  to  speak  at  all.  Come  back  from  the  door,  I  tell  you.  Don't 
you  say  a  word." 

"  T»ut  you  musn't  look  so  scared,  mother.  They'll  think  some 
thing  wrong  if 'you're  so  pale  and  trembling.  Don't  be  afeaid 
— We  haven't  done  anything  wrong,  and  we  don't  know  any 
thing  of  father's  doings." 

"Hush,  child,  you  musn't  be  talking.  There  they  como 
Oil  !  my  God,  what  is  to  become  of  us  ?" 

"  Don't  be  afeard  mother  !     God  won't  let  them  hurt  us." 

"  Oh  !  how  do  you  know,  Dory  ?" 

"  I  believe,  mother." 


PORGYS  EXTRAVAGANCE  REBUKED  7 

•  "  Believe  !  oh  !  yes,  yo\i'll  believe  anything,  even  though  the 
soldiers  kill  us  and  carry  ns  to  prison.  Come  back  from  the, 
door,  I  tell  you.  I'll  open  it.  I'll  answer  all  they  ax." 

The  child  drew  away,  and  rested  her  elboAvs  upon  the  tabl«. 
as  the  party  approached  the  house.  A  rather  heavy  knock 
thrice  repeated,  threw  the  mother  into  a  new  passion  of  terror. 


ic  wrung  her  hands. 


"  Lord  have  mercy  !     What  shall  we  do  1" 

"  Open  the  door,  mother,  or  let  me  do  it.  I'm  sure  these  peo 
ple  ain't  going  to  hurt  us.  One  of  them  is  Mr.  Fordham  and 
lie's  a  good  man,  you  know." 

"  Mr.  Fordham,  is  it  ?"  in  a  whisper,  and,  somewhat  reassured, 
rising  and  smoothing  her  apron.  "  To  be  sure,  Mr.  Fordham's 
always  been  our  friend." 

Another  knock,  and  the  voice  of  Fordham  — 

"  It's  me  —  it's  a  friend,  Mrs.  Bostwick." 

The  poor  woman  took  courage.  The  door  was  opened,  ana 
Fordham,  without,  stood  in  front  of  the  party.  He  had  alighted 
from  his  steed,  and  held  him  by  the  bridle.  Porgy  was  in  the 
act  of  letting  himself  down  ;  a  performance,  with  him,  usually  to 
be  classed  among  his  most  deliberate  acts.  Millhouse  kept  his 
saddle.  The  negroes  were  grouped  in  the  rear.  It  was  a  most 
formidable  party,  still,  in  the  eyes  of  the  squatter's  wife.  The 
girl,  Dory,  looked  on  with  some  curiosity,  but  with  the  saddesr. 
possible  look  of  resignation.  Porgy  and  Fordham  threw  the 
bridles  of  their  steeds  to  the  negroes,  and  proceeded  to  enter  the 
dwelling  at  the  invitation  of  the  hostess,  who  was  tremulous  with 
solicitude. 

"  This  is  Captain  Porgy,  Mrs.  Bostwick  —  perhaps  you  may 
remember  him  before  he  went  into  the  army." 

"  I've  seed  the  captain,"  said  she  humbly,  "but  can't  say  that 
1  should  recollect  him." 

"  Very  likely,  my  dear  madam,"  responded  the  captain  cour 
teously,  taking  off  his  cap,  and  entering.  "  In  the  last  five  years 
I'Ye  grown  out  of  my  own  knowledge  —  one  of  the  few  men  of 
the  army,  madam,  who  fattened  on  starvation.  Your  daughter, 
Mrs  Bostwick." 

"  Dory,  sir,  my  oldest/' 
Dory  !     Is  that  her  name  t" 


J28  WOODCRAFT. 

"  For  short,  capfain.  Her  given  name  is  Dorothy.' 
Porgy  took  rhe  offered  hand  of  the  child,  and  looked  to  Ford- 
ham  significantly.  Fordham  nodded  his  apparent  affirmation. — 
Por<ry,  still  holding  the  child's  hand,  proceeded  to  seat  himpelf 
on  a  chair  which  the  officious  hands  of  Mrs.  Bostwick  put  beside 
'him.  Dory  had  already  perused  the  lines  of  his  countenance, 
which,  not  wanting  in  manly  beauty,  though  with  some  defects, 
\vfi3  at  the  same  time  benevolent  and  even  tender  in  expression. 
His  eyes,  small,  but  full  of  life,  were  also  distinguished  by  good 
nature,  and  his  mouth  was  similarly  marked.  The  child  felt  at 
ease  as  she  surveyed  his  face.  A  single  glance  sufficed  for  this. 
lie  was  no  ruffian,  that  she  felt  sure ;  that  he  was  a  gentleman 
by  birth  and  education,  her  instincts  at  once  assureu  her.  The 
fact  was  sufficiently  proved  by  the  ease  with  which  he  inspired 
confidence  in  both  mother  and  daughter.  Our  captain  was  quite 
as  observant  of  Dory's  features  as  she  had  been  of  his.  The 
singular  beauty  of  the  child  struck  him  at  a  glance,  and  com 
pelled  consideration.  She  resembled  her  mother  very  little. 
Who  could  she  resemble1?  Was  her  father's  face  like  hers? 
Could  that  ruffian  and  outlaw  wear  anything  in  his  countenance, 
like  the  serene  sweetness,  the  ethereal  loveliness  that  formed  the 
life  of  that  pale  but  glowing  aspect  ?  The  thing  was  impossible. 
The  conjecture  was  expelled  from  his  thought  the  moment  it 


sought  to  enter. 


Meanwhile,  Fordham  had  broached  the  special  object  of  their 
visitation  to  the  anxious  woman,  by  asking  for  the  whereabouts 
of  her  husband.  Her  apprehensions  were  renewed  ;  her  tremors 
oceanic  visible.  Dory  struggled  out  of  the  hands  of  Porgy,  and 
immediately  placed  herself  beside  her  mother.  The  action  and 
its  motive,  so  prompt  and  so  instinctive,  at  once  afforded  to  our 
captain  a  clew  to  the  strong  moral  courage  and  propriety  of  the 
child.  The  question  of  Fordham  showed  the  visit  to  be  one  of 
quasi  hostility.  The  party  was  to  be  confronted,  not  embraced. 
The  mother,  in  her  moment  of  danger,  must  have  the  full  sup 
port  of  her  children.  They  were  not  to  give  countenance  to 
those  who  threatened  a  father's  safety,  however  erring.  Of 
course,  such  thoughts  as  these  formed  no  argument  for  the  un- 
ripened  mind  of  the  child  ;  but  the  unerring  instincts  of  a  rightly 
placed,  and  rightly  sympathetic  heart,  sufficed  to  bring  about 


PORCY'S  EXTRAVAGANCE  REBUKED.         229 

flip,  instant  conviction  just  as  certainly  as  if  it  had  been  produced 
by  thought  and  reason.     Porgy  saw  it  all. 

"  Come  back  to  me,  Dory,"  said  he  mildly,  extending  his  hand 

You  are  not  afraid  of  me  ?" 

She  looked  into  his  face,  and  immediately  returned  to  him. 
Confidence  was  reinspired  in  consequence  of  the  sudden  activity 
of  other  instincts  ;  and  the  captain  had  her  again,  a  moment  after, 
seated  upon  his  knee.  In  the  meanwhile,  it  was  apparent  that 
Mrs.  Bostwick  either  would  not,  or  could  not,  give  any  account 
of  her  husband.  She  was  evidently  greatly  frightened,  answered 
wildly,  and  was  seemingly  so  much  distressed,  that  Porgy  inter 
posed  for  her  relief. 

"  It  does  not  matter,  Fordham.  Mrs.  Bostwick  evidently  knows 
nothing  of  her  husband  — and  we  know  nothing,  Mrs.  Bostwick  j 
but  we  thought  it  possible  that  he  might,  from  his  knowledge 
of  the  people  of  the  country,  and  the  country  itself,  put  us  on  the 
track  of  a  band  of  outlaws  who  were  guilty  of  a  great  outrage 
yesterday." 

"  Yesterday,  captain  ?"  asked  the  woman  in  renewed  terror, 
and  looking  wildly  to  Dory. 

"  Yes,  madam,  yesterday  !  They  waylaid  that  excellent  lady, 
Mrs.  Eveleigh,  her  son  and  Mr.  Fordham  ;  seized  them ;  tied 
the  lady  to  her  carriage,  captured  her  wagon,  and  no  doubt 
would  have  robbed  and  killed  all  the  party,  if  I  had  not  provi 
dentially  come  to  their  rescue,  with  a  few  friends,  at  the  last 
moment." 

"  Lord  save  us  !  and  yesterday  !" 

"  We  defeated  the  ruffians,  and  four  of  them  were  slain." 

"  Oh  !  my  God  !     Did  I  ever !" 

"  We  captured  their  horses  ;  yet,  such  was  the  audacity  of  the 
surviving  ruffians,  that  they  ventured,  one  or  more  of  them,  even 
to  my  dwelling  last  night,  and  carried  off  one  of  the  best  of  the 
captured  horsofi." 

•'  You  don't  say  ?" 

••  Yes,  madam  ;  a  large  raw-boned  black  !" 

"  A  black  !"  and  the  conscious  mother  grew  paler,  and  looked 
to  Dory.  The  child  was  pale  also  but  the  features  were  01? 
Ljonles3.  They  said  nothing 


230  WOODCRAFT. 

"  Now>  Mrs.  Bostwick,  we  thought  that  your  husband  might 
possibly " 

"  Oh  !  I'm  sure,  captain,  lie  don't  know  nothing  about  H. 
He's  had  no  horse  for  a  year,  that  I've  seed,  and  where  he  is, 
there's  no  telling.  It  ain't  often  we  sees  him  at  home.  He  s 
away  all  the  time,  ontell  his  own  children  hardly  knows  him 
when  he  comes." 

Porgy  looked  into  Dory's  face  with  an  expression  that  won 
the  child's  sympathies  at  once.  His  look,  involuntarily  seemed 
to  say,  "  Can  it  be  possible  that  he  is  indifferent  to  such  a  dear 
innocent,  such  a  pure,  bright  bud  of  the  wilderness  as  this?" 
But  he  said  nothing,  and  suffered  the  mother  to  proceed  in  a 
series  of  rambling  denials  and  disclosures  which  only  served  to 
prove  to  both  Porgy  and  Fordham,  that  'the  woman  really  knew 
more  of  the  husband  and  his  recent  operations  than  she  so  sol 
emnly  declared.  Of  course,  neither  of  them  suspected  her  of 
any  share  in  his  proceedings,  or  any  sympathy  with  them. 
Fordham  had  already  put  our  partisan  right  in  his  estimate  of 
the  existing  relations  between  husband  and  wife,  and  of  the 
humble  heart  and  honest  character  of  the  latter. 

The  overseer,  baffled  in  his  effort  to  ascertain  from  the  mother 
{**»,  'hing  with  regard  to  the  recent  visits  of  the  squatter,  now 
addressed  himself  to  the  daughter. 

"  And  when  did  you  see  your  daddy  last,  Dory  ?" 

The  child  turned  her  eyes  quietly  to  the  querist,  but  before 
she  could  reply,  Porgy  exclaimed  — 

"  No  !  no  !  Fordham  !  "  That  won't  do  !  Enough  !  If  Mrs. 
Bostwick  don't  know,  and  hasn't  seen,  how  should  the  little 
girl  ?  But  I  have  some  questions  to  ask  you,  Dory,  and  you 
must  answer  me. 

And  he  looked  into  her  eyes  with  a  look  which  taught  her 
that  there  was  no  snare,  no  danger. 

"  You  spin,  I  hear,  Dory,  and  weave,  and  knit,  and  sew,  and 
do  a  great  many  clever  things.  Now  I'm  in  great  want  of  sew 
ing,  spinning,  weaving,  and  knitting.  I  want  woollen  cloth,  and 
c.otton  cloth,  and  thread,  Dory,  and  a  great  supply  of  stockings. 
See  what  a  big  foot  I've  got  —  two  feet,  you  see,  and  both  of 
them  are  in  great  straits  for  want  of  clothing.  Will  you  knit 
for  me,  Dory,  and  spin  for  me,  when  I  beg  you  1  I  shall  want 


PORGY'S    EXTRAVAGANCE   REBUKED.  23i 

both  you  and  your  mother's  help  in  fitting  up  my  poor  establish 
ment.  I  am  no  longer  a  -soldier ;  and  am  about  to  become  a 
planter  again,  and  you  know  what  a  planter  wants.  Now.  my 
dear,  to  begin  —  1  must  have  as  many  pair  of  stockings  as  mam 
ma  and  yourself  can  knit  for  me  between  this  and  July.  And  you 
must  let  me  pay  you  for  them  in  advance,  that  I  may  make 
sure  that  you  will  do  the  work.  Here,  take  this,  Dory,"  thrust 
ing  a  guinea  into  her  hand,  "  and  here  is  a  kiss  by  way  of  seal 
to  the  contract." 

The  little  girl  took  the  money  without  a  word,  but  her  eyes 
instantly  filled  with  tears,  and  she  suffered  her  head  to  decline 
on  Porgy's  shoulder.  He  kissed  her  again,  and  put  her  down, 
and  she  immediately  walked  across  the  room  to  her  mother,  and 
laid  the  guinea  in  her  lap,  and  stood,  during  the  rest  of  the  visit, 
with  her  hand  leaning  on  her  mother's  chair.  The  good  woman 
was  loud  in  her  acknowledgments. 

"  God  bless  you,  sir,"  she  said,  "  you're  very  good  to  us. 
Dory  shall  work  for  you  ;  she  kin  knit  jest  as  well  as  I." 

"  She  must  do  my  stockings,"  quoth  Porgy,  "  only  she.  You 
mus'n't  touch  them.  I  must  have  the  satisfaction,  when  I  wear 
them,  of  knowing  that  she  made  them.  I  shall  find  work  for 
you,  too,  Mrs.  Bostwick.  You  shall  hear  from  me  when  I  want 
you.  Good-by,  ma'am ;  you  are  a  good  woman,  and  ought  to 
be  more  comfortable  in  the  world.  Good-by,  Dory ;  don't 
forget  me." 

The  child  came  up,  and  offered  him  her  hand,  which  he  took, 
then  stooping,  kissed  "her  again,  took  a  respectful  leave  of  the 
mother,  arid  led  the  way  out  of  the  house.  Fordham  followed, 
but  not  before  the  wife  of  the  squatter  contrived  to  say  : — 

"  Oh  !  Mr.  Fordham,  tell  Mrs.  Eveleigh,  that  I'm  so  sorry  she 
was  robbed  and  troubled  on  the  road.  I'm  so  very  sorry." 

And  she  looked  as  if  she  felt  that  she  herself  was  greatly  to 
blame  in  the  matter ;  thus  satisfying  the  shrewd  overseer  that 
she  was  well  aware  of,  or  at  least  suspected,  her  husband's  share 
in  the  transaction.  When  they  had  mounted  their  horses,  and 
were  out  of  hearing  of  the  house,  Fordham  said  to  Porgy  : — 

Kf  you  hadn't  stopped  me,  captain,  I  reckon  we'd  ha'  got 
out  >•»  Dory  all  about  her  father's  coming,  ef  so  be  he  had  beeu 
there  " 


232  WOODCRAFT. 

"Yes,"  answered  Porgy,  "or  she  would  Lave  been  ma  Re  to 
lie  about  it,  and  would  thus  Lave  spoiled  the  prettiest  mouth  in 
the  world.  No  !  no  !  Fordham.  We  must  not  demand  of  the 
I'hild  the  evidence  against  the  parent.  I  was  not  unwilling  that 
you  should  ask  the  mother ;  though  after  the  thing  was  begun, 
I  felt  that  there  was  a  degree  of  meanness  about  it,  which  made 
me  feel  a  little  ashamed.  Still  it  was  desirable  to  have  the 
truth,  and  the  wife  of  such  a  husband,  might  be  supposed  to  be 
somewhat  used  to  lying  for  him,  and  to  be  a  little  blunted  in 
her  sensibilities.  But  that  child.  She  is  the  very  picture  of 
innocence  as  well  as  loveliness.  Isn't  it  a  wonderful  thing  that 
such  a  child  should  be  born  to  such  parents.  How  strangely 
will  the  perfect  plant,  the  most  beautiful  flower,  exquisite  in 
excellence,  and  admirable  in  hues,  spring  up  on  the  common 
dunghill.  She  ought  to  be  plucked  from  it  with  all  haste,  and 
reared  in  a  garden  to  herself. 

Fordham  could  not  altogether  perceive  the  propriety  of 
Porgy 's  refinements.  He  thought  his  philosophy  a  little  to< 
strained  for  common  use,  but  he  was  silenced  by  it.  But  Porgv 
was  not  to  get  off  so  easily.  He  was  now  grappled  with  by  no 
less  a  person  than  his  sergeant,  Millhouse,  who,  sitting  on  horse 
back,  at  the  entrance,  throughout  the  interview,  had  been  a 
curious  but  silent  spectator  of  the  scene.  He  suddenly  turned 
upon  his  superior,  and  said  : — 

"  Cappin,  you  gin  a  guinea  to  the  gal  to  make  you  stockings ! 
a  whole  guinea!" 

"  To  be  sure  !     Well !  what  of  it,  Millhouse  V 

"  Why,  Lord  love  you,  cappin,  that  ought  to  buy  stockings 
enough  for  a  regiment.  Why  four  shillings  would  git  you  as 
many  for  your  own  wear,  as  would  last  you  from  now  to  Christ 
inas." 

"  Very  likely,  Millhouse.  But,  in  truth,  I  did  not  givo  thv 
guinea  for  the  stockings.  I  gave  it  for  the  child  to  buy  her  own 
stockings,  if  need  be,  or  whatever  else  she  needs.  I  gaye  i1 
from  my  heart,  Millhouse,  and  not  from  my  pocket." 

"  Oh  !  ay  !  I  see  !     It  was  a  sort  of  charity  then,  cappiii." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  you  may  call  it  so." 

"  Of  course,  there's  no  eend  to  the  supply  where  thai  cairx 
from !  Lori  be  uiarciful  to  them  who  ain't  marciful  to  the*' 


POEGY'S  EXTRAVAGANCE  REBUKED.  233 

selves !  You'll  want  all  of  them  guineas  before  long.  But  I 
reckon  you've  li;ul  jist  sich'a  dream  as  poor  'Lisha  Dayton,  that 
s'arved  with  us  at  Georgetown,  and  was  killed  at  that  blasted 
skrimmage  at  Quinby,  where  we  lost  so  many  good  fellows." 

"And  what  sort  of  dream  had  Elisha  ?" 

"  Why  you  see,  'Lisha  was  always  dreaming  of  good  luck 
and  finding  fortunes,  though  poor  fellow,  he  had  precious  small 
chances  of  luck  at  any  time  that  ever  I  heard  tell  of.  But 
when  we  were  at  camp  'pon  the  High  Hills,  he  somehow  got 
hold  of  a  pair  of  pretty  good  boots,  a  leetle  worn  only,  that  he 
tuk  from  a  British  ensign  that  he  brought  down  with  a  bullet 
on  a  scout.  The  boots  was  too  fine  for  'Lisha  to  wear,  so  he 
agreed  to  sell  them  to  Lieutenant  Withers  for  nine  shillings,  in 
the  raal  silver.  The  boots  were  worth  a  great  deal  more,  but 
that  was  all  the  money  the  lieutenant  had,  and  there  was  nobody 
else  about  that  had  any.  So  'Lisha  'greed  to  take  the  nine 
shillings ;  and  with  that  money  jingling  in  his  pockets,  the  poor 
felloAv  thought  he'd  got  the  world  itself  in  a  string,  and  the  two 
eends  of  the  string  both  in  his  own  fingers.  He  thought  so 
much  about  it  that  he  was  constantly  dreaming  of  buried  money 
and  all  sorts  of  great  discoveries.  One  day  he  come  to  me ; 
says  he — '  Millhouse,  I've  had  the  same  dream  three  nights 
running.  It.  must  be  true.  I'm  sure  on  it.  It's  of  a  great 
heap  of  money  buried  on  the  Block  House  Hill.  I  seed  the 
hill  in  my  dream,  and  the  very  trees,  jest  how  they  stand,  above 
the  place  where  the  money  lies.  I'  wants  you  to  go  with  me 
and  git  it.'  Says  I,  '  I  don't  b'lieve  in  dreams.'  Says  he,  '  But 
this  is  a  true  one.  I'd  take  bible  oath  on  it,  I'm  sure.  And  ef 
you'll  go  with  me  and  help  dig,  and  let  nobody  else  know,  I'll 
give  you  a  whole  quarter  of  the  pile,  and  the  pile  is  a  mighty 
big  one.'  Says  I,  '  'Lisha,  them  dreams  is  only  making  a  great 
fuol  of  you.'  And  then  he  swore,  and  he  was  so  sart'in  sure  of 
it,  and  he  begged  so  hard  with  me  to  go  and  help  him,  that  I 
concluded  to  go ;  but  says  I,  *  'Lisha,  as  I  tell  you,  I  don't 
b'lieve  in  dreams,  and  if  you'll  agree  to  give  me  them  nine 
shillings,  in  hand,  that  you're  a  jingling  in  your  pocket  now, 
I'll  give  up  the  quarter  that  you  offer  me  oat  of  the  buried 
pile.'  When  he  heard  that,  he  was  a  leettle  slow  to  answer 
*  Then,'  says  I,  *  you  don't  b'lieve  in  your  own  dreams  arter  all. 


234  WOODCEAFT. 

Then  he  swore  a  most  outrageous  big  oath,  and  he  said,  '  It's  a 
bargain.'  So  I  made  him  give  up  the  shillings,  and  I  jingled 
'em  in  my  pockets  all  the  way  we  went ;  and  he  pushed  f ora'd, 
pretty  fast  ahead,  for  now  he  didn't  seem  to  like  the  sound  the 
shillings  made  when  they  were  in  my  pocket  and  not  his  own, 
We  had  both  of  us  pick  and  shovels,  and  sure  enough  he  led 
'zactly  to  the  place  as  he  seed  it  in  his  dream;  and  the  'tarnal 
fool  had  gone  there  before  mid-day  by  his  own  self.  'Well,' 
says  I,  "Lisha,  where  shall  we  strike?'  'Thar,'  said  he,  'that's 
the  'zact  place.'  And  into  it  I  went  with  the  pick.  And  into  it 
he  went,  like  a  strong  man.  And  we  picked  the  earth  loose, 
and  the  roots,  and  we  shovelled  and  threw  out  the  naked  yel 
low  clay,  jest  as  God  had  put  it  there,  maybe,  a  million  of  hun 
dred  years  before,  until  we  both  sweated  like  an  overseer's  horse 
in  fly-time.  At  the  eend  of  two  of  the  longest  hours  I  ever 
knowd  in  my  life,  'Lisha  jumped  out  of  the  hole,  and  says  he, 

with  a  laugh,    'What  a  blasted  fool  I  am  to  b'lieve  in  ad d 

dream!'  'So  you  are,' says  I.  'It's  no  use,'  says  he,  'there's 
no  pile  to  share.  I  see  it  now.  And  so,  as  there's  no  treasure, 
Millhouse,'  says  he  —  the  bloody  fool! — 'you  must  give  me 
back  my  shillings.'  And  as  he  said,  I  jest  dropped  pick  and 
spade,  and  put  my  ringers  to  the  corner  of  my  eyes,  and  I  said, 
'Look  here,  'Lisha,  ef  you  sees  gooseberries  anywhere  in  them 
two  eyes.'  'AVhy,'  says  he,  'as  we  hain't  found  any  money, 
you  ai'nt  guine  to  keep  my  shillings?'  'Ain't  I,  then,'  says  I, 
'  The  speculation  in  the  dream  was  your  own,  'Lisha,  and  I 
worked  only  for  the  sartaiuty  of  the  thing.  You  kin  keep  the 
pile  when  you  find  it,  but  I'll  keep  the  pile  Iv'e  found  already; 
and  I  confess  to  you,  'Lisha,  I'm  belter  pleased  to  dig  for  my 

money  in  a  fool's  pocket  than  in  the  side  of  a  d d  hard  clay 

hill  like  this ! '  Lord !  how  he  did  rip  and  tear,  curse  and  swear ; 
but  'twant  no  use.  I  had  the  shillings,  and  he  soon  Famed 
that  it  would  call  for  bigger  curses  than  was  in  his  body  to  draw 
the  shiners  out  of  my  pockets.  He  gin  it  up  at  last,  and  then  I 
said  to  him,  'you  ain't  fit  to  keep  money,'  'Lisha,  but  I  won't 
be  hard  upon  you.  Here's  three  of  your  shillings  back,  jest 
enough  for  you  to  jingle.  They'll  make  all  the  music"  you  de- 
sarves  to  hear. '  " 
And,  at  the  close,  the  recollection  of  his  achievement  prompted 


PORGY'S  EXTRAVAGANCE  REBUKED.      235 

a  glorious  burst  of  cacchination  from  the  throat  of  our  military 
financier. 

"A  good  story,  Millhouse,  and  excellently  told,"  quoth  Porgy; 
"and,  pray,  how  will  you  apply  it  to  our  present  purpose?" 

"Why,  easy  enough,  cappin!  Don't  you  see,  ef  you've  got  a 
dream  like  'Lishe  Dayton,  of  a  pile  of  treasure  soinewhar'  to  be  got 
only  for  the  diggin',  t'won't  be  treasonable  or  ^righteous,  el'  you 
let  me  jingle  in  my  pockets  the  rest  of  them  guineas  in  your'n." 

"Humph!"  muttered  Porgy;  "it  would,  perhaps,  be  just  as 
well,  Millhouse,  if  I  did ;  but,  with  your  permission,  I'll  wait  for 
the  dream.  Be  sure  of  this,  my  good  fellow,  that,  while  you  wield 
pick  and  shovel,  in  getting  in  my  treasure,  you  shall  be  quite  wel 
come  to  share  my  shillings,  nor  shall  I  envy  you  their  jingle." 

"Don't  I  know  that,  cappin?  Tain't  for  myself  I'm  a-speaking, 
but  jest  for  you  and  your  gettings.  I'm  afeard  you'll  want  every 
guinea  that  you  waste." 

' '  Don't  mistake,  Millhouse.  I  waste  no  guineas.  When  I  give 
money,  it  is  only  that  I  may  get  a  good  interest  for  it.  The  true 
man,  Millhouse,  does  not  live  by  money,  nor  by  that  which  money 
will  always  buy  —  bread  and  meat.  There  is  still  better  food  than 
that  for  which  I  more  hunger ;  and  yet  I  know  not  the  man  living 
who  has  a  better  appetite  for  good  living  than  myself." 

Fordham  had  been  a  quiet  listener  to  this  conversation,  and 
seemingly  quite  an  interested  one,  but  he  now  arrested  it  by  recur 
ring  to  what  had  been  one  of  the  objects  of  the  expedition  —  to 
find,  if  possible,  the  route  which  the  outlaw  had  taken  who  had 
carried  off  the  horse. 

"There's  no  tracks,"  said  he,  "  about  the  cabin,  only  those  made 
by  our  own  horses.  I  reckon  he  hain't  been  to  see  his  family  on 
horseback ;  though  I'm  thinking  his  old  woman  has  seed  him  sence 
the  attack  yesterday.  She  show'd  it  by  the  scare  we  gin  her. 
He's  not  gone  back  after  he  got  the  horse.  He's  too  'cute  for  that. 
We  sha'n't  see  him  back,  in  these  parts,  I'm  a-thinking,  till  it's  all 
pretty  much  blown  over." 

Still  the  search  was  made.  The  party  traversed  the  region, 
along  all  the  avenues  which  it  was  possible  for  the  outlaw  to  pur 
sue,  assuming  him  to  have  steered  for  the  cottage.  But  they 
found  no  traces.  And  this  was  no  vague  search.  Nobody  who 
does  not  know  the  woodman  of  the  South  can  conceive  the  excel 
lence  of  his  eye  in  discovering  the  slightest  traces  upon  the  ground, 
or  through  the  forest,  of  the  objects  which  he  pursues.  On  horse- 


236  WOODCKAFT. 

back,  at  a  smart  canter,  he  will  pull  up,  dismount,  and  show  you 
where  the  deer  or  turkey  has  gone  by,  perhaps  the  night  before. 
He  can,  with  very  great  approach  to  certainty,  say  what  interval 
has  elapsed  since  the  passage  of  the  prey.  His  instincts  are  those 
of  the  Indian.  Taught  in  the  same  school,  his  eye  and  ear  aro 
wonderfully  keen,  quick,  and  discriminating.  Knowing  the  quali 
ties  of  our  woodmen,  the  report  of  Fordham,  Frampton,  or  Mill- 
house,  on  matters  of  this  sort,  would  always  be  quite  conclusive  to 
our  captain  of  partisans.  But  it  was  sunset  before  the  scouting 
was  arrested.  A  little  after  that  period,  they  reached  the  dwelling 
of  Porgy,  and  Fordham  was  readily  persuaded  to  stay  to  supper. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 


PLAY   AND    PAY. 

It  does  not  need  that  we  should  accompany  the  Squatter,  bost- 
wick,  on  his  course  to  and  along  the  Edisto,  pursuing  the  u.nvn- 
ward  route,  until  it  brought,  him  within  sight  of  the  <»:v>an. 
Enough  that  we  find  him  there  in  safety  after  a  little  interval  of 
time. — But  there  was  one  adventure,  however,  which  occurred  to 
him  on  the  road,  and  within  seven  or  eight  miles  only  of  the  spoi 
where  he  had  engaged  to  meet  with  M'Kewu,  and  to  bring  the 
negroes  and  the  papers,  should  he  prove  successful  in  his  attempt 
upon  the  cavalcade  of  the  widow  Eveleigh.  Stopping  at  a  hovel 
on  the  roadside  for  refreshment,  he  was  surprised  to  come  upon  the 
fellow,  Tony  Hines,  the  only  other  surviving  member  of -the  gang 
which  he  led  on  thai  occasion.  Tony,  it  will  be  remembered,  had 
succeeded  in  saving  himself,  when  pursued  by  Porgy  and  Corpo 
ral  Millhouse,  by  taking  to  the  swamp  fastenesses  before  the  two 


PLAY  AND   PAY.  237 

partisans  had  got  within  striking  distance.  His  terrors  in  the 
flight  had  been  such  as  to  prompt  him  to  such  desperate  efforts 
as  to  kill  his  horse ;  when  lie  resumed  farther  flight  on  foot,  never 
stopping  on  his  downward  route  until  it  became  physically  im 
possible  to  proceed  farther. 

Flight,  fatigue,  the  want  of  food,  and  perhaps  an  already 
diseased  condition  of  the  body,  had  resulted  in  a  burning  lever, 
and,  in  utter  exhaustion,  he  had  sought  shelter  and  succor  in  a 
cabin  whose  inmates  could  afford  but  little  of  either.  It  was  here 
that  Bostwick  found  him  stretched  on  a  miserable  pallet  of  straw 
in  a  state  of  extreme  suffering.  Physic  and  physicians  were  not 
to  be  had  in  that  sparsely-settled  region.  The  patient  died  or 
lived  according  to  the  strength  of  his  constitution,  or  the  decree 
of  Providence.  "  Yairb  [herb]  tea,"  was  the  only  remedy  of  the 
poor  and  simple  population,  and  of  this  sylvan  remedy  the  good 
woman  of  the  hovel  was  willing  to  provide  any  quantity,  and  did 
pour  it  down  the  throat  of  the  sick  man,  till  he  turned  from  her 
with  loathing;  and  he  hailed  the  appearance  of  Bostwick  with  a 
yell  of  delight,  as  it  seemed  to  promise  him  what  the  old  people 
had  denied  —  a  draught  of  cold  water.  Bostwick  would  have 
supplied  him  from  the  bucket,  but  the  old  woman  interposed  with 
hands  and  tongue. 

' '  It'll  be  the  death  of  him,  stranger.  It'll  check  the  perspira 
tion  and  give  him  a  chill  to  kill  him." 

"Let  my  old  woman  alone,"  quoth  the  husband;  "she  knows 
how  to  doctor  fever." 

And  the  squatter  withheld  the  beverage  from  the  burning  lips 
of  the  patient. 

"But  what  in  the  world's  name  brought  you  here,  Tony?" 
Bostwick  curiously  demanded.  Rogues  are  naturally  suspicious 
of  each  other,  and,  finding  the  fugitive  directly  on  the  route  to 
the  secret  place  of  meeting  with  M'Kewn,  and  only  a  few  miles 
from  it,  the  squatter  began  to  conjecture  that  there  had  been 
some  connection  between  the  two,  which  had  been  withheld  from 
him. — M'Kewn,  so  far  as  he  knew,  had  never  seen  Tony.  He 
had  also  been  earnest  in  his  injunctions  to  keep  his  creatures  from 
all  knowledge  of  the  party  by  whom  he  had  been  employed. 
The  squatter,  fully  assured  of  the  dishonest  and  deceitful  charac 
ter  of  M'Kewn,  now  strove  by  a  series  of  circuitous  inquiries  to 


238  WOODCRAFl 

probe  the  fugitive  outlaw,  and  it  was  only  after  along 

ination,  carried  on  with  very  excellent  skill,  that  lie  arrived  a*. 

the  conclusion,  that  in  taking  the  route  which  he  had  pursued. 

Tony   had  no   other  purpose   than  that   of  throwing  as  much 

breadth  of  swamp  and  forest  between  himself  and  his  pursuers, 

as  was  possible,  and  that  he  really  knew  nothing  of  the  Scotch 

man. 

Satisfied  finally  of  this,  the  squatter  promised  to  do  for  him 
what  he  could;  to  try  and  procure  physic  and  assistance;  and, 
comm^ndrng  him  to  nature  and  the  old  people  who  sheltered 
him,  left  him  to  the  chapter  of  accidents.  We  must  not  suppose 
that  he  abandoned  him  indifferently.  It  was  not  in  his  power, 
in  fact,  to  give  iiim  either  help  or  consolation.  He  knew  of  no 
remedies,  being  one  of  that  class  of  persons  who  never  had  leisure 
for  sickness.  Nor,  even  if  succor  could  have  been  bought,  had 
he  the  means  in  money  for  the  purchase.  He  had  left  behind 
aim,  in  his  cypress  hollow,  the  strong-box  of  Mrs.  Eveleigh,  with 
all  his  ill-gotten  treasure,  as  well  as  the  much-valued  paper.  A 
few  shillings  sufficed  Iiim  for  the  expenses  of  the  route,  and  lie 
looked  for  the  replenishing  of  his  purse  to  the  meeting  with 
M'Kewn.  He  left  his  comrade  accordingly,  but  not  without 
promising  to  bring  him  medicine  and  money  on  his  return,  which 
he  told  him  would  not  be  long  delayed.  When  he  got  to  the 
place  appointed  for  his  meeting  with  M'Kewn,  the  latter  had  not 
yet  made  his  appearance ;  but  he  was  soon  joined  by  Barton  and 
Drummond,  persons  of  the  brotherhood,  who  acted  as  aj^nts  for 
M'Kewn,  and  who  shared  his  spoils.  They  reported  t\  trim  • 
port  sloop  to  be  in  waiting,  standing  ofF  and  on,  and  to  bb  brought 
in,  in  a  couple  of  hours,  by  a  signal  which  had  been  agreed  on 
with  the  captain. 

"But  where's  the  niggers,  Bostwick?"  demanded  Drummowd 

"Niggers'?" 

"Yes;  M'Kewn  expected  you  to  bring  down  fifteen  or  twenty." 

"M'Kewn  expects  other  men  to  do  things  he  kaint  do  himself.'' 

"Why,  that's  pretty  much  the  way  with  most  people.  But 
have  you  got  any?" 

"Well,  we  must  talk  over  them  things  another  time.  I  must 
eat  and  drink  now.  I'm  a'most  famished.  I  haint  h&/  a  decent 
mouthful  of  anything  for  three  days." 


PLAY   AND    PAY.  239 

"The  devil!  Well,  we  can  provide  you.  We're  well  off  here. 
Plenty  of  the  good  stuff — -raal  Jamaica,  and  as  much  grub  as 
would  feed  a  regiment.  Let's  be  off  to  the  castle." 

"Castle!" 

"Ay,  what  you  may  call  a  castle,  it's  so  hard  to  be  got  at;  but 
if  you  look  for  anything  better  than  a  canvass  tent,  in  a  deep 
swamp,  you're  dreaming  to  no  purpose.  Come  along.  Barton 
will  stay  here  and  meet  M'Kewn,  and  bring  him  along.  He'll  be 
here  after  nightfall." 

Drummond,  one  of  the  confederates,  was  the  speaker,  and  he 
led  the  way,  on  foot,  to  his  swamp  castle,  which  lay  deeply  im 
bedded  in  tangled  thickets  near  one  of  the  mouths  of  the  Edisto. 
— Bostwick  kept  011  horseback  as  long  as  he  could.  A  few 
minutes  riding  lost  them  the  cool,  fresh  breezes  of  the  sea.  Soon, 
they  were  buried  in  a  dense  region  in  which  the  air  seemed  to 
sleep  like  a  lake  in  the  hollows  of  the  mountains.  But  the 
change  was  not  a  disagreeable  one  at  that  season  of  the  year. 
In  a  little  while,  ignorant  of  the  locality,  you  would  have  fancied 
yourself  anywhere  but  near  the  ocean,  all  was  so  still,  so  utterly 
confined  and  shut  in,  and  with  the  horizon  within  finger-reach. 
A  Mind  path  showed  the  way  imperfectly,  winding  circuitously 
ihrough  lagune  and  thicket.  At  length,  the  two  ascended  a 
-light  elevation,  and,  through  the  shrubbery,  Bostwick  caught 
glimpses  of  the  dingy  canvas  which  formed  the  tent  of^the  con 
federates.  They  were  now  within  the  walls  of  "the  castle;"  a 
ensile,  indeed,  of  magnificence  such  as  the  works  of  art,  in  the 
hands  of  man,  has  never  yet  displayed.  The  bank  upon  which 
the  tent  stood  was  crowned  with  aged  oaks,  that  spread  them 
selves  out  like  great  green  canopies,  covering  all  within  their 
reach,  their  white  beards  trailing  to  the  earth,  or  sweeping  in  the 
wind,  like  those  of  the  Druid  Bards,  howling  their  songs  of  hate 
and  death  in  the  ears  of  the  tyrant  Edward,  as  described  in  the 
much  undervalued  ode  cf  Gray  —  a  production  very  far  superior, 
in  all  poetic  respects,  to  the  over-lauded  elegy  of  the  same 
writer.  Our  live  oaks  are  certainly  patriarchal  presences  when 
we  find  them  of  an  age  beyond  the  memory  of  man.  These,  in 
the  castled  keep  of  our  confederates,  almost  within  siijht  of  tho 
ocean,  and  within  the  influence  of  its  salt  atmosphere,  would  have 
thrown  into  comparative  insignificance,  the  "eastled  crags  of 


240  WOODCRAFT. 

Drachenf ell's, "  placed  in  close  neighborhood  with  them.  But 
they  were  not  alone.  If  the  oak  is  the  Druid  priest,  the  ancient 
patriarch,  the  Magnolia  is  the  crowned  king  of  the  forest.  There 
were  three  of  these  sovereign  forms  within  thirty  feet  of  each 
other,  and  alternating  among  the  oaks,  on  the  bank  where  the 
tent  of  the  outlaws  —  for  such,  in  fact,  they  were  —  had  been 
raised.  Not  one  of  these  trees  was  less  thnn  a  hundred  and 
fifty  feet  in  height,  their  great  shafts  rising  up  like  columns, 
straight  as  an  arrow,  and  bare  of  foliage  for  more  than  a  hundred 
feet,  then  swelling  into  a  mighty  crown  of  green,  darkly  bright, 
which  the  hands  of  May  wrould  enliven,  not  enrich,  with  the  purest 
of  her  great  white  flowers.  Myrtle  and  cane,  the  honeysuckle 
and  jessamine,  and  dog-wood,  not  yet  in  bloom,  or  even  brighten 
ing,  grew,  and  were  gladdened  in  the  shadow  of  these  protecting 
potentates;  while  the  billows  of  the  sea,  at  the  height  of  the  tide, 
wound  in  among  the  creeks,  and  freshened  the  hollows,  even  to 
%the  roots  of  these  princes  of  the  forest  whom  they  were  insidi 
ously  to  undermine  in  season. 

But  the  squatter  had  no  eye  for  these  objects.  With  him,  as 
v;ith  most  of  the  ignorant,  a  tree  is  a  tree  only;  and  in  a  region 
which  boasts  of  such  a  wilderness  of  trees,  the  most  noble  is  but 
little  valued  —  is  cut  down  and  cast  into  the  tire  without  remorse 
on  the  smallest  occasion.  Bostwick  regarded  the  natural  aspects 
of  the  spot  only  with  reference  to  their  uses  for  the  shelter  of  the 
fugitive.  He  was  not  insensible  to  this  feature  of  the  "  castle." — 
But  the  tent  and  what  it  contained  more  certainly  apppealed  to 
his  tastes.  He  wras  conducted  into  it  by  Drummond.  Here  they 
found  an  old  negro  woman,  a  withered  crone  of  sixty,  who  ap 
peared  to  busy  herself  in  cleaning  pots  and  rinsing  kettles.  Of 
these  utensils  there  may  have  been  half-a-dozen  strewed  about. 
There  was  no  table,  or  chair,  or  bed  in  the  tent,  but  one  or  two 
boxes,  and  a  pile  of  cloaks  and  blankets,  served  to  shj>w  how  the 
inmates  garmented  themselves  for  sleeping.  A  capacious  jug 
was  visible,  standing  on  the  ground,  which  Drummond  bade  the 
old  woman  replenish  with  fresh  water.  A  neighboring  spring, 
enabled  her  to  do  this  in  a  few  seconds,  for  the  woman  was  brisk 
though  old,  and  moved  about  with  very  juvenile  -  celerity. 
Whether  through  love  or  terror,  her  rulers  had  tavurht  her  equal 
docility  and  activity.  When  she  returned  with  the  water,  Drum- 


PLAY    AND   PAY.  241 

mond  threw  open  the  box,  and  revealed  several  huge  square  bot 
tles  of  Jamaica  —  the  great  liquor  of  the  low  country  during  this 
period,  and  for  a  goodly  time  after. 

To  drink,  was  a  thing  of  course.  It  was  the  initiator}'  process 
in  those  days  of  all  society,  high  and  low,  of  the  palace  and  the 
hovel.  Bostwick  enjoyed  the  double  advantage  of  an  incorrigible 
head  and  an  eager  taste.  He  was  one  not  easily  satisfied,  and 
not  easily  suffering.  Drummond  was  by  no  means  a  milk-sop 
either,  and  the  draught  was  repeated  no  less  than  three  times  in 
the  half  hour  which  the  two  employed,  cast  upon  the  earth,  and 
chatting  together,  we  may  suppose,  of  the  joys  of  knavery,  and 
the  luxury  of  sin.  After  awhile  Barton  made  his  appearance, 
just  about  dark.  He  was  followed  by  a  couple  of  sailors  bring 
ing  in  fish.  Candles  were  lighted  within  the  tent,  and  a  fire  was 
kindled  without.  Around  this  the  woman  proceeded  to  prepare 
supper. 

"I  wonder  what  keeps  M'Kewn?"  queried  Bostwick. 

"Oh!  he'll  be  here  directly.  'Tiant  time  for  him  yet.  But 
let's  be  doing  something  till  supper  is  ready." 

"Well,  I'm  consenting,"  replied  Bostwick,  readily  comprehend 
ing  what  the  something  meant.  "  Hev'  you  any  looks?  " 

Books  meant  cards  in  the  vernacular  of  the  forest. 
•"We'd  be  without  our  salvation  if  we  hadn't,"  was  the  answer 
of  Barton.     Drummond,  meanwhile,  pulled  out  from  the  fathom 
less  bowels  of  the  box  a  paper  containing  several  well-thumbed 
packs. 

It  is  curious  that  all  primitive  periods,  in  all  countries,  are  dis 
tinguished  by  the  passions  for  gaming  and  drinking,  and  by  such 
a  degree  of  invention  as  will  enable  men  to  gratify  both.  The 
fact  illustrates  the  necessity  of  the  race  for  mental  exercise,  and 
for  the  excitement  of  the  nervous  system.  And  this  is  in  what 
we  vulgarly  and  ignorantly  call  a  state  of  nature,  as  if  man,  who 
is  a  born  creature  of  art,  ever  knew  such  a  condition,  in  the 
sense  in  which  nature  is  commonly  understood.  But  we  must 
not  philosophize,  having  to  deal  with  our  present  company. 

"What  shall  be  the  marks?  "  demanded  Drummond,  throwing 
himself  clown  beside  the  two,  and  spreading  the  cards  before  them. 

"  Ontell  I  see  M'Kewn,   and  git  some  money,   I  shill  have  to 
run  upon  mighty  small  marks,   I  tell  you,"  was  Bostwick's  an 
il 


242  WOODCRAFT. 

swer,  drawing  forth  the  few  shillings  that  remained  in  his  pocket, 
arid  detaching  a  single  one  from  the  rest. 

"  Well,  it  is  a  small  p'int,"  quoth  Barton. 

r  "  But  when  a  man  kaint  run,  you  muri  let  him  walk,"  an 
swered  Bostwick,  taking  up  the  cards  and  proceeding  to  shuffle 
The  other  two  put  up  their  shillings.  In  those  days  the  moral 
and  philosophical  games  of  brag  and  poker,  now  the  favorites 
where  the  shillings  are  forthcoming,  were  not  known  among  the 
people.  It  had  not  then  been  reduced  to  a  science,  the  study 
of  one's  moods  at  play  —  a  study  upon  which  success  at  Brag 
and  Poker  so  much  depends.  The  ordinary  game  with  the 
"  little  dogs,"  was  one  still  known  and  still  reasonably  practised 
among  this  class  under  the  several  names  of  old-sledge,  seven- 
up,  all-fours,  &c. ;  and  on  the  present  occasion  it  was  adopted 
tacitly,  not  a  word  being  said  to  decide  the  point  on  either  hand. 
The  squatter,  like  most  of  his  class,  Avas  an  adept  at  this  play  ; 
not  only  knew  the  game  well,  but  had  little  adroitnesses  which 
increased  the  science,  and  sometimes  remedied  the  deficiencies 
of  fortune.  He  could  make  the  trump,  and  cut  the  jack  —  when 
not  too  impertinently  watched  —  almost  at  his  pleasure.  The 
only  qualification  to  this  merit,  was  in  the  fact  that  it  was  shared 
in  pretty  nearly  the  same  degree,  by  his  associates.  They  were 
well  matched,  and,  this  being  the  case,  but  little  room  was  left 
to  either  to  play  the  knave,  out  of  his  turn.  They  were  in  the 
midst  of  the  play  when  M'Kewn  entered. 

"  I'm  mighty  glad  you've  come,  M'Kewn,"  was  the  abrupt 
and  somewhat  irreverent  address  of  the  squatter,  "  es  I'm  jest  in 
want  of  the  shillings.  These  chaps  here  hev'  pretty  nigh 
dr caned  me  of  all  I  had." 

"  And  a  small  all  at  that,"  laughed  Drummond. 
"  A  man's  all  is  enough  for  him  to  lose  at  any  time,"  muttered 
the  squatter,  as  Drummond  took  up  his  last  shilling.  "  I'm  a- 
looking  to  you,  M'Kewri  ?"  —  and  he  extended  his  open  palm. 
His  manner  was  such  as  to  impress  the  Scotchman  with  the  no 
tion  that  his  more  important  game  had  been  succesrful ;  and, 
though  the  familiarity  of  the  squatter  had  now  began  to  grate 
upon  his  sense  of  the  more  dignified  position  to  which  he  was 
rifiing  in  the  world,  he  yet,  with  a  good-natured  sarcasm,  hand 
ing  him  some  money  as  he  spoke,  replied  — 


PLAT   AND    PAY.  2-18 

c'  I  should  like  to  know,  Bostwick,  when  you  11  cease  to  look 
to  me  1" 

"Well,  there's  no  knowing ;  when  I've  done  with  you  I  reckon." 

'  Or  I  with  you,"  responded  the  other,  sotto  voce ;  and  the 
i'.'.k  which  spoke  to  the  squatter  at  the  same  time,  seemed  to 
MV  that  there  should  be  no  long  delay  in  cutting  the  connection 
the  present  affairs  being  finally  adjusted.  Bostwick  grinned. 
The  parties  knew  one  another  and  were  fairly  matched. 

"  Why,  what's  this,  M'Kewn  ?"  growled  the  squatter,  as  he 
looked  at  the  handful  of  coin,  which  the  former  had  given  him. 
"  Nothing  but  silver,  and  pretty  much  shillings  and  sixpences  all." 

"  What  would  you  have,  man  1    You're  betting  shillings  only." 

"  That's  only  bekase  I  had  nothing  better,  and  I  must  make 
up  my  losses  by  tall  betting.  Give  us  some  gowld,  kain't  you  ?" 

The  humor  of  the  request  did  not  seem  favorably  to  impress 
M'Kewn  ;  but  it  was  one  which  he  was  not  prepared  to  combat 
openly  at  present.  Nay,  the  very  confidence  with  which  the 
application  was  made,  seemed  to  say  —  I  know  how  largely  you 
owe  me  for  my  services. —  He  handed  the  squatter  three  guineas. 

"  'Twon't  do,  now,  M'Kewn.  Make  it  ten.  Don't  be  split 
ting  the  hoecakc  too  thin." 

"  Wait  till  you  lose  them  before  you  ask  for  more." 

"  But  I  ain't  a-guine  to  lose  'em  ;  and  its  bekase  I'm  guine  to 
win  now,  that  I  want  to  go  to  tall  betting. —  There !"  said  he  to 
Drummond  nnd  Barton,  and  clapping  down  the  handful  of  small 
silver  that  he  had  received  from  M'Kewn,  "  plank  down  agin 
the  heap,  both  on  you." 

The  money  was  counted,  and  each  of  the  challenged  parties 
faced  it  with  a  like  sum.  M'Kewn,  gazing  on  the  squatter, 
could  not  keep  from  showing,  in  his  face,  the  feeling  of  scorn 
and  disgust  which  he  entertained  for  him.  The  latter  saw  the 
expression  of  his  countenance,  and  read  its  full  meaning.  His 
own  glance,  in  reply,  was  one  of  mixed  bitterness  and  derision. 
The  play,  meanwhile  went  on.  The  parties  played  as  uncon 
cernedly  as  if  nothing  were  at  stake.  Practice  had  indurated 
them.  Barton  was  drowsy,  to  all  appearance,  but  keenly  vigi 
lant.  Drummond  was  gay  and  garrulous,  but  not  a  point  of  the 
game  escaped  him  ;  while  the  squatter,  seemingly  reckless  and 
indifferent  at  the  same  time,  was  saying  to  himself.  "  Thesu 


244  WOODCRAFT. 

skunks  would  steal  the  eyes  out  of  a  body's  head  if  he'd  let  'em 
But  I  knows  'em."  M'Kewn  seated  himself  upon  the  chest,  and 
gazed  upon  the  three  in  silence.  In  a  few  minutes  Drammond 
cried  out  — 

"  Seven  up  !  That's  into  }ou,-Bost!"  and  he  raked  up  the 
two  piles  with  the  coolness  of  one  spooning  up  his  uncooled 
broth.  The  action  was  followed  by  the  squatter  casting  down 
the  three  gold  pieces  which  he  had  just  got  from  M'Kewn.  The 
latter  started  up. 

"  What !"  cried  he,  "  you  don't  mean  to  stake  the  three  upOD 
the  game  ?" 

"  Why  not,  Squar  ?"  answered  the  squatter 

"  The  devil !  And  you  expect  my  pockets  to  keep  you  sup 
plied  ?" 

"  In  course  !"  was  the  cool  rejoinder. 

The  Scotchman  jumped  up,  hurried  to  the  entrance  of  the 
tent,  walked  out,  was  gone  a  moment,  then  returned  and  took 
his  seat  upon  the  chest.  It  was  not  long  before  Barton  gathered 
up  the  stakes. 

"  Luck's  ag'in  me,"  quoth  Bostwick,  "  but  every  road  I  ever 
seed  has  a  turn  somewhere.  I  must  hev'  the  guineas,  M'Kewn." 

And,  without  looking  round,  he  extended  his  open  palm  to 
the  person  he  addressed. 


CHAPTER    XXXVII 

BREWAGE    OF    BITTER    BEVERAGE    AMONG    THE    BRETHREN 

M'KEWN  started  to  his  feet. 

"  What,  the  devil  ?"  he  exclaimed, "  do  you  suppose  I'm  made 
out  of  gold  ?" 

"  If  you  was,  how  I  should  like  the  k'inmg  of  you,"  respond 
ed  the  squatter  with  a  rare  coolness. 

. "  Hark  ye,  Bostwick,  do  you  mean  that  I'm  to  find  you  guin 
eas  for  you  to  stake  by  the  handful  on  a  rascally  game  of  cards  ?" 

"  In  course  !     But  old-sledge  ain't  a  rascally  game,  M'Kewn 
It's  a  mighty  fine  game,  I  tell  you,  and  takes  a  mighty  smart 


BREWAGE   OP    BITTER   BEVERAGE.  245 

sort  of  person  to  play  it  now.  I  reckon,  ef  so  be  luck  wasn'i 
always  agin  me,  I  could  beat  you  from  Monday  morning  to 
Sunday  night,  and  never  stop  once  to  pray.  Fork  over  now, 
sensible,  M'F>rwn,  and  don't  keep  the  boys  waiting.  Five 
guineas  will  do." 

"  I  must  see  you  first." 

"Oh!  there's  no  seeing  about  it.  I'm  here.  You  see  me,  1 
reckon.  I'm  alive  and  kicking  —  pretty  sprigh  too,  all  things 
considerent,  I've  been  a-working  in  your  business;  that's  enough. 
Hand  up  the  gowld,  and  shet  up." 

M'Kewn  seemed  disposed  to  show  obduracy.  He  rose  and 
again  sat  down,  and,  all  the  while,  the  hand  of  the  squatter  was 
stretched  out  before  him,  the  fingers  working  toward  the  palm. 
Bostwick  was  playing  more  games  than  one.  It  was  with  the 
most  desperate  reluctance  that  M'Kewn  conceded  the  demand, 
and  flung  down  five  pieces  of  gold  upon  the  ground  between  tho 
players. 

"  Let  it  lie  thar',"  quoth  Bostwick,  "  and  kiver  it,  boys,  if  you 
dare  !" 

M'Kewn  started  up,  almost  furious. 

"Bostwick,  I  warn  you." 

"  Oh  !  warn  be  d d !  I  know's  what  I'm  about,  M'Kewn, 

It's  my  money  now,  and  I've  the  right  to  use  it  jest  as  I  chooses. 
Are  you  down,  honeys?" 

"Faced,  full  point,  Bost,"  answered  Drummond.  And  fifteen 
guineas  formed  the  pile.  M'Kewn  tried  to  look  on,  but  couldn't 
endure^  long.  He  darted  up,  arid  sallied  out  of  the  tent.  When 
he  returned,  the  whole  pile  belonged  to  the  squatter,  and  his  op 
ponents  were  compelled  to  plead  for  a  mitigation  of  stakes.  The 
stakes  were  now  of  silver. 

"It  feels  so  mean !"  quoth  the  squatter,  "  to  git  back  to  white 
money,  after  ye've  had  sich  a  pleasant  feel  of  the  yallow.  But 
I'm  agreeable  to  anything." 

And  he  dealt  out  the  cards,  threw  up  a  knave,  and  ran  out  the 
game  in  a  jiffy,  gathering  up  the  sixpences  with  the  air  of  a  man 
who  is  half  disposed  to  regard  the  act  as  more  troublesome  than 
compensative.  A  stop  was  put  to  the  game  by  a  call  to  supper. 
Suppose  this  performance  to  be  achieved,  and  the  parties  satis 
fied,  and  the  things  removed. 


246  WOODCRAFT. 

"  Well,  honeys,"  said  the  squatter,  with  still  increasing  audacity 
"  whenever  the  feeling  of   old-sledge  comes  strong  upon  you 
I'm  the  man  to  say,  h'ist  away!     I  don't  want  to  be  carrying 
off  your  gowld  chickens,  ef  you're  the  men  to  call  'em  back  to 
the  old  roost." 

"Work  before  play,"  interposed  M'Kewn.  "We've  got  some 
thing  to  do,  I  think,  and  the  sooner  we  set  about  it  the  better.' 

"Well  !  I  don't  know  what  you've,  got  to  do,  M'Kewn,"  cool 
ly  rejoined  the  squatter,  "but  ef  you  hev'  anything  on  hand  to 
trouble  you,  the  sooner  you  get  at  it,  the  better.  But  my  work's 
done  for  this  time,  I  reckon,  and  I'll  play  tell  all  splits,  —  ontell 
1  kin  get  another  job  that's  profitable." 

"  You  forget,  you  have  not  made  your  report  about  the  last 
job.  You  want  your  pay  without  performance.  But  you  don't 
get  another  stiver  from  me  until  I  know  what's  been  done.  I 
must  be  satisfied." 

"And  so  you  shell,  soon  enough,  ef  anything  kin  satisfy  you 
]}ut  there's  time  enough.  Let  us  play  awhile.  I'm  in  for  luck 
now,  and  I  ain't  guine  to  lose  the  chance." 

"Let  him  git  rid  of  his  guineas,  M'Kewn,"  quoth  Drummond. 
"  They  burn  in  his  pocket.  He  won't  be  easy  till  he  empties 
it," 

"  And  then  he'll  not  be  easy  till  he  fills  it  again,"  answered 
M'Kewn  angrily.  "  Don't  I  know  him  ?" 

"Ef  you  does,  you  knows  a  man  that,  when  he's  done  his 
work,  must  hev'  his  rest,"  answered  the  squatter,  with  an  air  of 
savage  doggedness.  "Look  you^  M'Kewn,  when  you  knows  all, 
you'll  wonder  I  ain't  a  tiger,  or,  it  mout  be,  some  worser  wild 
beast  than  that." 

"Eh  !"  exclaimed  M'Kewn,  with  a  stare. 

"Yes!  You  may  say 'eh!' and  look  wild.  But  I've  seed 
sights  to  make  a  man  think  of  hell,  and  worse  places." 

"Come  out  with  me,  Bostwick,  and  tell  me  all !" 

"I  ain't  guine  to  talk  about  it  'tell  I'm  ready.  Wait  awhile. — 
Let's  play,  —  all  of  us." 

"Play !"  said  M'Kewn.     "I'm  in  no  humor  for  play." 

"E\\  I'm  in  no  humor  for  work,"  retorted  the  squatter. 

"We'll  play  awhile,"  said  Drummond  to  M'Kewn,  with  an  ap 
pealing  look  ;  at  the  same  time,  turning  to  the  chest,  he  motioned 


BREWAGE   OF    BITTER    BEVERAGE.  247 

M'Kewn  to  rise,  and  drew  from  it  a  huge  black  bottle  of  Jamaica. 
"A  drink  all  round  before  we  play." 

"I'm  agreeable  to  that !"  answered  the  squatter;  and  the  cups 
were  filled  in  a  twinkling.  Bostwick  drained  the  fiery  liquid  in 
its  native  state,  disdaining  the  qualifying  aid  of  water.  All  drank 
M'Kewn  barely  tasting  the  beverage.  His  one  virtue  of  sobriety, 
by  the  way,  served  to  increase  greatly  the  potency  of  his  vices. 
—  He  still  refused  to  play,  but  sat  down  sullenly  observing  tlu! 
others. 

"  I'm  for  small  points,"  said  Barton,  putting  up  a  single  guinea. 
"  I'll  not  drain  my  pockets  in  one  fling  to  pleasure  any  man." 

"  Scared  !"  grinned  the  squatter. 

"  Well,  a  man  might  jest  as  well  be,  dealing  with  such  a  born 
devil  for  gambling  as  you,  Bostwick." 

The  squatter's  self  esteem  was  gratified.  He  gave  a  chuckle  ; 
and,  hauling  out  all  his  guineas,  raised  them  in  a  pile  beside  him. 
One  of  them  was  put  up  to  suit  the  resources  of  his  comrades 
They  played.  Luck  still  attended  him ;  and  he  was  the  winner 
of  game  after  game,  until,  at  a  significant  glance  from  M'KcAvn,, 
Drummond  and  Barton  both  declared  themselves  penniless. 

"  Git  more !"  roared  Oie  squatter.  "  Borrow  !  Thar's  M'Kewn.' 

"I  don't  lend  a  penny  !"  shouted  the  Scotchman. 

"  And  I  won't  borrow,"  said  Drummond,  governed  by  the  evi 
dent  wishes  of  M'Kewn,  rather  than  by  any  scruples  of  his  own. 

"  Nor  I !"  echoed  Barton.  "It's  only  to  lose.  You've  sold 
your  soul  to  the  devil,  Bostwick." 

"  And  a  devilish  bad  bargain  the  devil  has  made  of  it,"  mut 
tered  M'Kewn,  "  if  he  gave  five  shillings  for  the  stuff." 

"  I  reckon  that's  jest  the  price  you  put  on  your  own  soul,  M' 
Kewn,"  was  the  sarcasm  of  the  squatter;  and,  growing  more  au 
dacious,  he  added,  "  and  ef  old  Satan  be  the  cunning  chap  that 
people  thinks  him,  he'd  not  be  apt  to  buy  it  at  any  price.  It'll 
come  to  him  some  day,  of  its  own  free  will,  at  no  cost  at  all." 

M'Kewn  looked  more  and  more  savage.  His  face  had  actually 
grown  livid  as  he  listened  to  the  increasing  insolence  of  the 
squatter.  Hitherto,  the  creature,  though  apt  sometimes  to  say 
an  impertinent  thing,  had  never  shown  any  such  consistent  pur 
pose  of  doing  so.  M'Kewn  could  only  account  for  it,  by  sup 
posing  such  a  degree  of  success,  on  the  part  of  the  squatter,  in 


•J48  WOODCRAFT. 

his  late  operations,  as  had  stimulated  his  amour  proprc  to  a  degree 
even  beyond  the  control  of  his  fears  or  judgment.  This  being 
the  case,  M'Kewn  was  willing  to  tolerate  a  great  deal ;  but  his 
pride  chafed  greatly  at  the  necessity  of  doing  so,  and  what  was 
contempt  before,  in  the  feeling  which  he  entertained  for  the 
miserable  wretch  whom  his  cupidity  had  employed,  was  rising 
absolutely  into  a  sentiment  of  hatred.  Unconsciously,  vague 
purposes  of  resentment  and  revenge  were  beginning  to  work  into 
his  mind,  to  ripen  into  performances  as  soon  as  occasion  should 
offer  opportunity  for  their  due  exercise.  Either  Bostwick  did 
not  suspect  the  feeling  he  inspired,  or  was  regardless  of  it.  He 
continued  to  play  the  reckless  insolent ;  cool,  savage,  scornful  and 
satirical  in  all  that  he  said,  as  far  as  it  lay  within  his  capacity  to 
be  so.  And,  with  all  his  vulgarity  and  his  educational  inferiority, 
he  was  still  capable  of  making  himself  felt.  That  lie  should 
presume  at  all,  was  a  sufficient  cause  of  offence  to  M'Kewn, 
whose  social  pride  was  growing  in  due  degree  with  the  acquisi 
tion  of  wealth. 

Bostwick,  stimulated  by  a  sudden  and  unusual  run  of  luck,  was 
vexed  at  being  arrested  in  it.  He  was  acute  enough  to  couple 
the  refusal  of  Drummond  and  Barton  to  play  any  longer,  with 
the  obvious  wish  of  M'Kewn,  and  he  so  expressed  himself  as  to 
make  the  parties  understand  that  he  saw  through  them  all.  He 
knew  that  Drummond  and  Barton  had  money  enough  for  play, 
and  felt  sure  that,  if  they  had  not,  and  desired  it,  they  could 
command,  with  even  more  facility  than  himself,  the  requisite 
loans  from  the  Scotchman. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  looking  round  him  with  a  scorn  that  might 
be  really  entertained  —  "Well.  I'm  about  as  poor  a  dog  as  ever 
gnaw'd  a  bone ;  but,  by  Jiminy  !  I'm  not  so  poor  a  dog  as  to 
let  any  man  say  whether  I  shzll  bark  or  not,  jest  as  it  pleased 
him  !  — No  !  Ef  I'm  to  hev'  a  master,  I'll  choose  one  that'll  let 
me  run  or  sleep  when  I  wants  to,  and  not  rout  me  up  because  it 
suits  him  only,  and  set  me  to  barking  ag'in,  when  I've  lost  all 
tougue  a'ready  in  a  long  day's  hunt.  In  some  things,  I  knows 
I'm  worse  than  a  nigger,  but  bad  as  I  am,  I  reckon  I'll  never 
let  any  man  put  his  collar  round  my  neck." 

"And  who  doe.«  that?"  demanded  Barton  and  Drummond  in 
a  breath. 


BREW  AU  1C    01-'    I; ITT  1C  11    1UCVICRAGE.  249 

"  Why,  you,  both  on  you.  You  aint  half  a  man  between  you. 
Here  I  knows  you  both  wants  to  play,  and  will  take  to  cards  as 
an  old  sarpent  to  a  young  frog :  but,  jest  because  M'Kewn  hero 
has  given  you  a  look  out  of  his  gimblet  eyes,  you  shet  up,  and 
put  on  a  righteous  face,  and  swear  agin  your  very  souls,  that 
you're  tired  and  don't  want  to  play,  and  hain't  got  any  more 
money,  and  I  don't  know  what  other  'senses.  That  aint  being 
a  man  and  a  gentleman,  any  way.  It's  more  like  being  a  dog 
and  a  slave,  I  say !" 

"  Don't  you  call  me  a  dog  and  a  slave,  Bostwick,  or  I'll  hurt 
you  !"  growled  Barton.  Drummond  only  laughed  merrily. 

"  Hurt  will  you  ?  Who's  afear'd  ?  You're  barking  up  the 
wrong  tre*  Barton,  if  you  thinks  to  scare  me  with  your  tongue. 
I  could  take  the  starch  out  of  your  jacket  any  day  in  three  min 
utes,  ef  you  wants  to  try." 

"  Pshaw  !"  put  in  M'Kewn,  "  no  more  of  this  !  Be  still,  Bar 
ton  ;  and  you,  Bostwick,  don't  be  a  fool !  If  you're  fool  enough 
to  play  together,  and  gamble  away  your  money  when  you  ought 
both  to  be  earning  it,  at  least  don't  be  such  fools  as  to  quarrel 
when  your  profits  can  only  grow  from  your  working  together. 
You,  Barton,  set  off,  and  see  about  the  schooner.  The  tide 
serves,  and  she's  either  up  or  coining.  See  to  her,  and  make 
stowage  of  what  you've  got,  and  that's  a  matter  about  which  we 
must  talk  together,  Bostwick.  You,  Drummond,  go  with  Bar 
ton,  and  see  that  everything's  right." 

The  two  rose  without  a  word.     The  squatter  then  — 

"  Well,  cf  we're  to  hev'  a  talk  of  it,  jest  you  put  out  the  Ja 
maica,  Drummond,  that  we  shan't  hev'  a  dry  time  of  it.  M'Kewn 
is  mighty  apt  to  git  thirsty  when  he  talks  of  business,  and  J 
work  so  hard  to  listen  that  it  makes  niy  throat  mighty  dry  too. 
Heave  out  the  liquor,  will  you  ?" 

"  Plenty's  the  word,"  answered  Drummond,  doing  as  he  had 
been  a^ked.  The  portly  black  bottle,  square  and  capacious, 
was  put  within  reach.  The  negro  woman  just  then  brought  in 
a  bucket  of  water  from  the  spring.  She  was  dismissed,  and 
Drummond  and  Barton  soon  disappeared,  leaving  the  squatter 
and  his  employer  in  sole  possession  of  the  tent. 

11* 


260  WOODCRAFT. 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII. 

BLOOD    MONEY. 

SCARCELY  had  the  other  parties  all  disappeared,  when  M'Kewn 
began — 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  your  conduct,  Bostwick,  to 
night.  It's  rather  unusual,  I  must  say,  and  quite  different  from 
what,  I  think  I  have  a  light  to  expect.  You  have  seated  me 
pretty  much  as  if  I  were  one  of  those  ruffians  that  you  have 
sometimes  employed  ;  and  seemed  to  forget,  my  good  fellow, 
that  it  is  I  who  am  your  employer  ;  not  you  mine  !" 

"  Forgit  it,  you  say  !  No  !  by  Jiminy  !  not  a  bit  of  forgitting 
with  me  in  that  business,"  was  the  reply  ;  "  but  before  I  begin, 
I'll  try  the  Jamaica.  It'll  take  more  than  you  kin  find  101*  me, 
M-Kewn,  to  make  me  forgitful  of  you  and  your  business." 

This  was  said  in  tones  of  singular  bitterness,  and  with  such  a 
look  of  scornful  superiority  as  quite  confounded  the  listener. — 
Meanwhile,  the  squatter  resorted  to  the  bottle,  and  poured  out 
the  Jamaica,  and  dashed  it  with  water,  with  as  much  delibera 
tion,  as  if  there  were  no  other  objects  before  him  for  considera 
tion.  At  all  events,  he  showed  no  regard  whatever  to  the  ob 
vious  impatience  of  his  companion.  At  length,  having  drank, 
and  struck  down  the  cup  upon  the  chest,  he  turned  to  M'Kewn, 
and  confronted  him. 

"  And  now  for  it,"  said  he.  "  You  wants  to  know  about  the 
business,  and  how  we  got  on,  and  what  we've  got,  and  where's 
the  niggers  and  the  papers,  eh  !  Well,  now,  look  you,  M'Kewn, 
ef,  before  I  told  you  the  leetlest  word  in  the  world  about  the 
matter,  I  was  jest  to  take  this  knife,  and  drive  it  up  to  the  han 
dle  in  that  rotten  heart  of  your'n,  I'd  make  the  right  sort  of  be 
ginning  for  sich  a  story  as  I've  got  to  tell !" 

He  suited  the  action,  in  some  degree,  to  the  words ;  flourish 
ing  the  blade  of  his  couttau  de  cltassc,  in  singular  proximity  to 
the  eyes  of  his  auditor.  M'Kewn  was  no  imbecile.  He  was  a 


BLOOD    MONEY.  251 

cool,  firm  man;  not  a  hero,  perhaps  —  possessed  of  none  of  that 
sort  of  bravery  which  springs  tumultuously  into  appetite  and  ac 
tion  on  the  merest  show  of  provocation  —  but  he  could  fig-lit 
when  need  required,  and  could  look  calmly  the  ordinary  danger 
in  the  face.  But  the  proceeding  of  the  squatter  was  so  entirely 
unexpected  —  the  fellow  had  so  uniformly  shown  himself  the 
submissive  creature,  to  be  bought  and  used  at  pleasure,  by  the 
agency  of  drink  or  money  —  and  there  was  now  in  his  face,  such 
an  expression  of  vindictive  hate  and  ferocious  frenzy,  that,  if 
the  Scotchman  did  not  actually  quail  with  terror,  he  was  cer 
tainly  most  terribly  confounded. 

We  do  not  pretend  to  say  from  what  sources  sprang  this  now 
exhibition  of  conduct,  on  the  part  of  the  squatter,  to  one  who 
hitherto  had  been  allowed  to  appear  quite  as  much  his  master 
as  employer.  It  may  have  been  the  dictate  of  a  cunning  policy 
to  inspire  the  emotion  of  fear,  the  better  to  exercise  future  con 
trol  over  the  person  from  whom  he  was  otherwise  to  derive  but 
little  future  service.  The  temper  of  the  squatter,  who  had  his 
pride  and  vanity  also,  may  have  been  driven  to  this  degree  of 
desperation  by  the  unconcealed  contempt,  and  the  too  frequently 
studied  insolence  of  M'Kewn.  The  rum  he  had  been  drinking 
might  have  had  something  to  do  with  his  ebullition;  —  or,  it 
might  be,  that  the  scenes  through  which  he  had  gone,  his  own* 
narrow  escape,  the  death  of  four  of  his  associates,  the  necessity 
which  he  had  felt  of  putting  one  of  them  to  death  with  his  own 
hand  —  these,  together,  may  have  combined  to  work  upon  his 
brain,  so  as  utterly  to  deprive  him,  for  the  time,  of  all  the  re 
straints  of  judgment. 

It  is  very  probable  that  all  the  reasons  above  suggested  were, 
in  degree,  at  the  bottom  of  the  novel  demonstration  which  he 
had  made ;  and  that  policy  prompted  him  (for  he  had  sufficient 
sagacity  to  fathom  the  character  of  his  associates)  to  employ  his 
natural  and  mixed  emotions  with  a  certain  regard  to  his  own  fu 
ture  interests.  Whatever  the  source  of  his  speech  and  conduct, 
they  produced  the  effect  of  paralyzing,  for  a  moment,  the  cold 
blooded  scoundrel,  in  whose  hands,  hitherto,  had  rested  the  reins 
of  full  authority  over  the  creature  who  now  seemed  to  threaten 
him.  The  picture  appeared  strangely  to  realize  that  German 
fancy  which  represents  the  devil  as  serving,  for  a  long  time,  in 


252  WOODCRAFT. 

perfect  submission,  the  conceited  mortal  out  of  whose  hands  h« 
one  day  wrenches  the  staff,  only  to  break  with  it  the  head  of 
his  astonished  master.  M'Kewn  absolutely  gasped.  He  could 
not  summon  words  to  answer ;  and  the  squatter  seemed  to  rise 
even  into  dignity,  as  he  certainly  did  into  superiority,  as,  with 
a  calm  and  steady  eye,  he  watched  scornfully  the  effect  which 
he  had  produced  upon  the  meagre,  vacant  countenance,  and 
the  trembling  frame  of  his  confederate. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  M'Kewn,  ef  I  was  jest  now  to  stick  my  knife 
into  the  softest  part  of  your  heart,  and  work  it  there  with  a  heavy 
hand,  it  would  be  only  the  right  way  to  begin  the  telling  of  my 
story." 

M'Kewn  gathered  strength  to  say  —  but  still  in  gasping  ac 
cents — 

"  Why,  you  wouldn't  kill  me,  Bostwick." 

"  I  don't  know  but  I  ought  to.  'Twouid  be  a  mighty  good 
sarvice  done  to  good  people.  I  ought  to,  M'Kewn,  and  ef  I  was 
a  good  man  myself,  I'd  do  it  soon  as  eat." 

"  Why,  what  have  I  done,  to  put  you  in  such  a  fury?" 

"  Done  !  Listen !  Of  the  five  men  that  went  with  me  on  this  in 
fernal  expedition,  there's  only  one  now  living  on  this  mortal  airth !" 

"  What !  Four  !"  recovering  himself — his  terror  changing  into 
astonishment.  "  You  don't  say  that  four  men  have  been  killed  ?" 

"  Every  man  but  two  on  us  swallowed  his  bullet ;  Bill  Sykes, 
Dick  Norris,  Hafe  Burke  and  Jeff  Brydges.  Of  all  them  good 
fellows,  there's  not  one  on  'em,  but's  a-lying  in  the  woods,  and 
all  the  ice  in  nater'  couldn't  make  'em  feel  cold.  You,  and  you 
only,  have  been  the  death  of  them  four  fellows." 

"Pshaw!"  exclaimed  M'Kewn,  in  husky  and  half-choking 
accents,  "  that's  all  nonsense  !  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  their 
living  or  dying.  But  how  was  the  affair — how  did  it  happen  ? 
—  What  was  done?" 

"  Oh  !  you're  mighty  curious  to  know  ef  we  got  the  niggers 
and  the  papers !  You  don't  mind  much  ef  we  was  all  killed 
and  sculped,  so  that  you  had  your  eends  sarvcl.  I  know  you, 
M'Kewn,  and  it's  bekase  I  know  how  little  you  care  what  comes 
of  us,  that  I  feel  it  in  my  heart  to  find  my  way  with  this  knift 
into  your'n.  But  I  ain't  givine  to  kill  you  yit ;  'kase  you  see 
I'm  wanting  more  of  your  money." 


BLOOD    MOXKY.  -uu 

The  Scotchman  laughed  feebly,  ami  with  effort*. 

"  You  laughs,  docs  you,  and  I'm  telling  you  of  four  stout  Inda 
all  convarted  to  carrion  in  your  business." 

"  But  that's  no  faul*.  of  mine." 

"  Whose,  then  ?     Wasn't  it  your  business  ?" 

"Yes;  but  I  did  not  expect — I  did  not  wish — that  anybody 
should  be  killed  on  my  account." 

"  Ambushes,  when  men's  got  we'pons  in  their  hands,  is  very 
likely  to  hurt  people,  and  prehaps  to  kill  'em.  These  fellows  are 
killed,  I  tell  you,  four  on  'em  a-lying  stark  in  the  cold  night,  and 
looking  up,  and  never  once  seeing  the  stairs.  And  we  did  our 
best.  There's  but  one,  of  all  of  us  six,  alive  now,  beside  myself, 

and  the  d 1  knows  how  long  he's  to  be  allowed  to  keep  in  the 

open  daylight.  I  seed  him  not  four  hours  ago,  only  seven  miles 
from  here,  with  a  fever  on  him  hot  enough  to  burn  his  brains  to 
a  cinder." 

"  Who  is  he  ?" 

"  Tony  Hines." 

"  And  he  has  a  fever,  and  but  seven  miles  from  here  ?  And 
what  did  you  do  for  him  ?" 

"  What  could  I  do  1  It's  all  in  the  hands  of  nater.  I'm  no 
doctor ;  I've  got  no  physic  •  he  must  die  or  live,  as  it  happens." 

"  We  must  do  something  for  him.  But  seven  miles.  Where 
does  he  lie?" 

"  At  old  Ephraim  Smyzer's,  the  Dutchman.  But  we  needn't 
talk  of  him.  Ev  you've  got  any  physic  to  do  him  good,  give  it 
to  me,  and  I'll  carry  it  in  the  morning.  Let's  talk  of  the  other 
matter." 

He  filled  himself  another  cup  of  the  Jamaica,  sipped  a  little, 
and,  while  M'Kewn  tried  to  compose  himself,  and  prepared  to 
listen,  the  .squatter,  though  with  evident  dislike  of  the  subject, 
proceeded  to  unfold  his  history,  in  his  own  manner. 

"  We  set  the  trap,  and  the  widow  walked  fairly  into  it.  The 
carriage  was  ahead  of  the  wagon  half  a  mile  or  more,  and  Ford- 
ham  and  the  young  fellow  was  on  horseback.  They  rid  ahead, 
and  when  the  overseer  stopped  to  water  at  the  branch,  with  the 
young  fellow  on  t'other  side  of  him,  Bill  Sykes  lent  him  the  butt- 
eend  of  his  rifle,  and  tumbled  him  into  the  branch.  On  fortunate, 
Bill  Sykes  made  no  account  of  the  lad,  seeing  he  was  more  a 


254  WOODCRAFT. 

boy  than  a  man  ;  but  the  chap's  as  quick  a  varmint  as  ever  look 
ed  through  a  green  bush,  and  the  moment  he  seed  Fordham 
down,  and  the  man  that  down'd  him,  the  little  fellow,  setting  on 
liis  horse,  let  fly  at  Bill  with  his  pistols,  first  one  shot,  then  t'other, 
though  the  first  bullet  was  enough.  Bill  hadn't  a  word  to  say 
arter  that  for  any  of  his  friends  on  airth.  Then  the  young  devil 
wheeled  about,  and  went  off  like  a  streak.  But  a  shot  from  one 
of  our  boys  tumbled  the  lad's  pony,  and  we  captivated  him  and 
tied  him  down.  Fordham  tried  to  git  up,  and  he  had  two  pistols. 
but  we  put  in,  seasonable,  and  stunted  him  with  another  touch  of 
the  rifle-butt,  and  he  lay  quiet  enough  while  we  tied  him  down. 
The  widow  Ebleigh  we  took  out  of  the  carriage,  and  gave  her  a 
hitch  too  -  " 


"Did  you  tie 

"  Yes,  'twas  a  needcessity,  for  the  s'arch,  and  the  rest  of  the 
business.  Then  we  stopt  the  wagon,  and  made  at  the  niggers. 
They  scattered,  and  we  caught  only  seven  of  them  -  " 

"  You  got  seven,  then  ?"  said  M'Kewn,  feeling  a  little  relieved. 

"  Got  h  —  11  !  We  took  'em,  but  couldn't  keep  'em.  For, 
meantime,  a  nigger  gal,  name  Jinny  —  I  know  her  well  —  slipped 
out  somehow  from  the  carriage,  and  hid  in  the  bushes,  and,  when 
we  was  a-running  clown  the  niggers,  what  does  she  do,  but  cuts 
her  missis  loose,  and  cuts  Fordham  and  young  Arthur  loose,  and 
they  gits  possession  of  their  own  we'pons,  and  the  rifle  of  Bill 
Sykes,  and  takes  the  woods  on  us. 

"  Now,  Fordham  is  a  great  fellow  in  the  woods,  and  where  they 
harbored  we  couldn't  say.  —  At  last  they  got  a  crack  at  Dick 
Norris,  and  bark'd  his  limb  with  a  bullet,  but  not  to  do  much  hurt. 
Then  our  work  was  to  begin.  It's  a  long  story  to  tell  how  we 
snaked  and  foxed  through  the  bushes,  to  git  upon  their  rear.  At 
last,  llafe  Burke,  like  a  bloody  fool,  got  into  a  passion,  and  show 
ed  his  teeth  to  the  widow,  and  his  fool  head  to  her  son,  and  draw'd 
his  bullet,  I  reckon  from  a  rest,  for  it  laid  him  out  flat  as  a  sarcum- 
stance.  So  you  see,  thar  was  two  fine  fellows  tumbled  by  a  brat 
of  a  boy.  But  he's  a  quick  chap  as  e\er  lived,  and  ef  he  grows 
to  be  a  man,  he'll  make  somebody  see  sights.  But  I  reckon  we'd 
ha'  fixed  'em  all  at  last,  for  we  was  marching  off  the  seven  nig 
jjers,  we  captivitated  under  Tony  Hines  and  Jeff  Brydges,  when, 
*tll  of  a  sudden,  who  should  bolt  in  upon  them  and  us,  but  that 


BLOOD    MONEY. 

bloody  fat  cappin,  Porgy,  with  half-a-dozen  dragoons  at  his 
heels.  They  cut  down  Jeff  Brydges  in  his  tracks  ;  they  mn 
Tony  Hines  into  the  swamps,  where,  what  with  cold,  and  scare, 
and  hunger,  he's  got  the  fever ;  and  they  tuk  Dick  Norris  in  the 
\vngon,  and  hitched  him  to  a  swinging  limh,  putting  a  knot  ii.  the 
rope  jest  under  his  left  ear,  that's  made  him  careful  nevei  to 
speak  a  word  sence." 

"  Good  God  !  is  it  possible  !     Did  he  confess  1" 

"  I  reckon  he  didn't  liev'  a  chance.  Dick's  a  good  fellow,  and 
he  disapp'inted  them.  lie  died  too  sudden  to  say  much.  They 
gin  me  a  hard  chase,  so  close  that  I  had  to  throw  away  my  rifle. 
I've  lost  rifle,  horse,  and  everything;  and  four  fine  fellows  shet 
up  for  ever;  and  one  prehaps,  a-dying  now,  and  the  other  here, 
as  you  sees,  before  you,  purty  desperate,  M'Kewn  and  jest  as 
willing  to  knife  himself,  and  you,  and  a'most  anybody  that  crooks 
a  finger  at  him,  as  to  sup  this  Jamaica." 

"What  a  shocking  affair!  How  your  fellows  must  have  bung 
led  !" 

•'  Bungled  !  By  the  Etarnal !  don't  say  that  agin.  A  man 
what  pavs  for  his  bungling  with  his  life,  has  a  right  to  hev'  the 
decent  thing  said  about  him.  It  was  no  bungling,  but  a  clever 
piece  of  business,  mighty  well  done ;  but  a  man's  not  able  for 

everything,  and  who  was  to  know  that  them  d d  hard-riding 

men  of  Marion  was  to  corne  down  sudden  upon  us." 

"  But  you  admit  that  the  negro-girl,  Jenny,  escaped  your  ob 
servation,  and  it  was  she,  you  say,  that  cut  Fordham  and  the 
young  man  loose." 

"  Yes,  'twas  she ;  but  ef  it  hadn't  been  for  your  business, 
'twouldn't  hev'  happened  ;  but  you  was  so  set  upon  heving  them 
bloody  papers,  that  I  made  for  s'arching  the  carriage  arter  them 

my  own  self.  Ef  I  hadn't  done  so,  but  let  them  go  to ,  and 

jest  seen  to  the  captivating  of  the  party,  and  not  trusted  to  the 
other  fellows,  I  reckon  all  would  ha'  gone  right.  But  'twas  the 
blasted  papers  that  you  talked  so  much  about." 

"  Did  you  get  them  at  last — the  papers'?"  demanded  M'Kewn, 
eagerly. 

"  Yes !  'twas  all  I  got  out  of  the  affair." — The  squatter  thought 
of  the  fifty  guineas  as  he  spoke  but  without  compunctions  of  any 
sort.  "  Yes  !  I  got  'em  ;  I  got  all  the  papers  the  widow  had  in 


256  WOODCRAFT. 

the  carriage,  a  good  sized  box  full,  and  yours,  I  reckon,  is  among 
'em.  I  seed  two  papers  jest  like  what  you  show'd  me,  and  tell'd 
rne  about." 

"Let  me  see  them"  —  eagerly  —  "1  can  tell." 

"  No  !  no  !  M'Kewn  !  that  cock  won't  fight  tell  he's  well  fed. 
Them  papers,  ef  they're  so  vallyable  to  you,  are  jest  as  vallyable 
to  me.  You've  got  to  pay  for  them  papers  afore  you  git  'em. — 
They're  worth  a  sight  of  money.  They're  worth  them  four  lino, 
fellows  that  got  knock'd  in  the  head  to  git  'em.  They're  worth 
my  horse,  my  rifle,  my  trouble,  my  danger,  and  the  wf'ul  fright, 
and  hurry,  and  run,  and  confusion  I've  had.  Them  papers  must 
pay  for  all." 

"  Well,  but  Bostwick,  I  have  not  refused  to  reward  you  for  what 
you  have  done.  I've  paid  you  punctually  for  all  your  services  " 

"  Paid  me  ?  And  whar's  the  pay  ?  What  am  I  the  better  for 
it  1  It  come  in  driblets  and  it  couldn't  last  no  time.  Sich  re- 
wardings!  'Twon't  do  to  talk  of  what  you've  paid  me,  M'Kewn; 
it's  now  that  I'm  to  show  you  what  you've  got  to  pay.  I  must 
hev'  one  hundred  guineas  in  hand,  bright  and  yallow  here"  — 
touching  his  palms  — "  before  you  gits  them  papers  into  your'n." 

"  A  hundred  guineas  !  Why  man,  you're  mad.  A  hundred 
guineas  for  a  sheet  of  paper!" 

"  It's  a  paper  that  kin  hang  you,  M'Kewn." 

"  And  you,  too,  my  gaod  fellow." 

"  I'll  be  ready  for  the  rope  when  they're  a  stringing  you.  I 
jest  don't  care  for  nothing  now  except  my  comforts ;  and  my 
comforts  is  to  be  bought  with  guineas ;  and  ef  the  guineas  ain't 
there  to  buy  the  comforts,  why  I  don't  care  how  soon  the  eend 
of  the  rope  is  worked  into  a  slip  knot  for  both  our  necks.  Thar ! 
Them's  my  principles.  Make  the  most  you  kin  out  of  them.  A 
hundred  guineas  is  the  least  I'll  take  for  them  bloody  papers,  I 
tell  you." 

M'Kewn  changed  his  tactics. 

"  But  my  good  fellow,  you  don't  expect  me  to  pay  a  hundred 
guineas  for  the  papers  without  seeing  them.  What  evidence  have 
I  that  you  have  really  got  them  ?" 

"The  word  of  a  rascal  to  a  rascal,  ef  you  please,  and  I  ain't 
guine  to  give  you  better  evidence ;  for  I  kain't.  Take  that  or 
none  at  all." 


BLOOD    MONEY  3fi>j 

The  face  of  M'Kcwn,  naturally  of  a  cadaverous  cast,  flushed 
instantly  to  crimson.  The  space  between  himself  and  the  squat 
ter  had  diminished  wonderfully  in  a  single  week.  But  he  had 
no  remedy.  The  man  who  weighs  his  own  life  at  so  small  a 
value,  has  that  of  his  enemy  always  at  his  girdle.  He  had  only 
to  temporize. 

"  But,  as  we  know  each  other  so  well,"  said  M'Kewn,  "  pray 
what  security  shall  I  have,  when  I  have  paid  this  money,  that 
you  will  then  deliver  the  papers?  How  do  I  know  hut  you  will 
still  keep  them,  and  still  he  calling  upon  me  for  more  money." 

"  Well,  that  sartainly  would  be  a  good  way  to  do  business.  I 
hadn't  thought  of  that.  You're  more  cute  than  me,  M'Kewn." 

"  You  see  for  yourself.  My  only  security  is  in  your  delivering 
the  papers,  at  least,  when  I  am  prepared  to  pay  the  money." 

"  Kaint  be  did,  M'Kewn,  even  ef  I  was  willing,  which  I  aint. 
The  box  of  papers  is  hid  away,  where  all  h — 11  couldn't  find 
them." 

"Ah!" 

"  Yes  !  You  might  take  a  thousand  rigiments  and  s'arch  from 
Christmas  to  Christmas,  and  never  once  come  within  nosing  dis 
tance  of  their  hiding  place.  It'll  take  me  three  days  good  riding 
!o  bring  'em  here  ;  and  them  guineas,  one  hundred  on  em,  I  must 
hev'  before  we  part  to-morrow." 

A  cloud  passed  over  the  brow  of  M'Kewn.  His  forehead  was 
contracted.  He  rnused  in  silence  for  a  moment,  then  said  — 

"  Well,  I  must  think  of  it  to-night.  One  hundred  guineas ! — 
I  must  think  of  it." 

With  these  words,  he  abruptly  left  the  tent,  while  the  squatter 
proceeded  to  replenish  his  cup  with  the  convenient  Jamaica, 


258  WOODCRAFT 


CHAPTER   XXXIX. 

KNAVES    PAIRING    OFF. 

M'KEWiv  had  suddenly  been  enlightened  by  a  new  idea.  Ho 
walked  out  into  the  woods,  taking  a  Mind  path  with  which  he 
appeared  quite  familiar,  and  which  gradually  conducted  him  to 
the  near  neighborhood  of  the  river,  or  rather  that  arm  of  the 
sea  which  afforded  harborage  to  the  brigantines,  or  transport 
vessels,  to  which,  he  and  others,  engaged  in  illicit  trade,  were 
<ibo"t  to  furnish  stolen  cargo.  But,  though  approaching  this 
.  >*:ghborhood,  he  was  not  yet  disposed  to  show  himself  to  his 
confederates.  He  had  to  solve  his  problems,  in  secret  meditation, 
before  he  required  their  cooperation.  Exercising  our  peculiar 
privilege,  we,  however,  are  enabled  to  report  the  subject  of  his 
thoughts  and  the  conclusions  to  which  they  conducted  him.  As 
might  be  expected,  his  meditations  all  related  to  the  squatter, 
Bostwick,  and  the  embarassments  which  threatened  him  from 
that  quart e iv 

"  Either,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  this  fellow  has  the  paper  or  he 
has  not.  Whether  he  has,  or  not,  his  object  is  to  impress  me  with 
the  fact  of  his  possessing  it,  and,  through  my  fears,  on  that  sub 
ject,  to  extort  money  from  me.  He  will  never  surrender  the  pa 
per  as  long  as  he  can  do  this.  He  will  hold  it  over  me,  in  ter- 
rorcm,  for  ever.  I  must  disarm  him  of  this  power.  I  doubt  that 
he  has  this  paper.  If  he  has  obtained  it,  he  has  secreted  it,  as 
lie  boasts,  where  I  can  never  lay  hands  on  it  without  his  consent. 
I  know  the  scoundrel  so  well,  that,  supposing  he  has  it,  I  could 
swear  that  it  now  lies  hidden  in  some  hollow  tree,  in  some  un 
fathomable  swamp.  He  will  confide  the  secret  to  nobody  else. 
What  then  T  If  I  can  keep  him  from  it,  it  is  secure  from  all  other 
persons.  It  will  moulder  and  rot  in  its  burial  place.  It  can  never 
rise  against  me.  But,  even  if  he  has  not  this  paper,  his  own 
evidence  may  trouble  me  hereafter.  He  will  still  want  money  — 
will  always  be  full  of  wants  —  so  long  as  he  can  threaten  mo 


KNAVES  PAIRING  OFF,  259 

/  must  get  rid  of  1dm!  I  will  do  it.  This  very  skirmish  with 
Porgy  and  his  followers  increases  the  danger,  and  makes  it 
doubly  important  that  Bostwick  should  he  out  of  the  way.  I 
see !  I  have  it.  Drummond  can  manage  that !  But,  in  the 
meanwhile,  I  will  see  this  assorl.-ite  of  his  —  this  fellow,  Hines 
It  is  possible  that  he  has  the  paper,  and  only  awaits  Bostwick'a 
orders  on  the  subject.  He  is  sick  with  fever — that  may  be  true 
or  not.  I  must,  at  all  events,  find  out  what  I  can  —  all  that  he 
knows,  and  whether  he  knows  more  than  is  becoming  for  our 
safety.  Eight  miles !  I  can  see  him  and  return  in  four  hours. 
It  must  be  done!" 

Having  reached  this  conclusion,  he  emerged  from  the  thicket, 
and  moved  rapidly  toward  the  bluff  which  usually  formed  the 
landing-place  for  the  brigantine.  The  tide  was  making  rapidly 
into  the  creek  on  which  it  stood.  Three  persons  were  already 
there,  who,  on  his  approach,  proved  to  be  Drummond,  Barton, 
and  a  burly,  broad-shouldered,  and  excessively  short  person, 
partly  in  the  habit  of  a  sailor.  He  was  in  fact,  the  master  of  the 
brigantine.  His  name  was  Forbes.  These  three  were  in  wait 
ing  for  the  vessel.  She  was  approaching  under  a  fair  breeze, 
cutting  directly  across  the  inner  bay,  having  been  concealed 
for  several  days  already,  against  the  opposite  shore ;  her  tall 
rakish  masts  mingling  naturally  with  the  great  trees  of  the  forest, 
which,  in  that  quarter,  hung  directly  over  the«jiver.  She  was 
guided  in  her  progress  by  signal  lights  just  over  the  heads  of  our 
party  —  three  lanterns,  in  a  triangle,  suspended  from  a  cypress 
pole.  By  daylight  she  was  signalled  by  three  separate  smokes. 
M'Kewn  joined  the  group  who  awaited  her,  and  they  spoke  to 
gether  on  the  subject  of  their  affairs  in  general.  Various  matters 
were  discussed  among  them  which  need  not  tax  our  attention, 
but  scarcely  a  word  was  said  of  the  squatter ;  Forbes  only  re 
marked — 

"  Bostwick,  it  seems,  came  empty  handed.  It's  not  often  that 
he  fails." 

"  He  was  probably  drunk  or  he  would  not  have  failed  this  time." 

"  Is  there  any  chance  that  he  will  mend  the  matter?"  was  the 
inquiry  of  Forbes. 

"  Scarcely  in  season  for  yon.  You  have  a  pretty  fair  cargo, 
however  and  there's  no  policy  in  waiting  upon  him." 


260  WOODCRAFT. 

"  No,  indeed  !  I  shall  try  to  be  oft'  by  day-peep.  We  have  a 
hunched  and  seventy-one.  I  am  prepared  to  take  two  hundred, 
if  they  were  ready  ;  but  there's  quite  too  much  risk  in  waiting. 
Some  French  vessels-of-war  went  by  yesterday,  going  north, 
and  close  in  shore.  Every  day  will  acid  to  their  number,  and 
they  are  enough  now  along  the  route,  to  keep  us  watching  with 
all  our  eyes." 

"  I  want  some  physic  out  of  your  chest,  captain,"  said  M'Kewn 
somewhat  suddenly  changing  the  subject. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?     You're  not  going  to  take  physic  ?" 
"  It's  not  for  myself." 

"  We  have  a  good  supply.  You  can  have  what  you  please. 
For  my  part  I  don't  see  the  good  of  it,  in  our  hands  at  least 
When  a  sailor's  to  die,  it  makes  no  sort  of  difference  whether 
you  physic  him  or  not.  Die  he  will,  and  the  physic  only  keeps 
him  from  dying  easily." 

"  It's  very  different  with  a  backwoodsman.  He  believes  in 
physic,  and  relishes  large  doses.  He'll  hardly  think  himself 
well,  unless  he  has  taken  physic.  The  old  women,  half  of  them, 
feed  on  it,  and  learn  to  like  it  as  well  as  coffee  and  sugar." 

"  That's  when  it's  mixed  with  alcohol,"  quoth  Drummond. 
But  who's  it  for,  M'Kewn  ?" 

"  A  fellow  named  Hines,  a  friend  of  Bostwick,  who  has  been 
taken  sick  some  eight  miles  above,  at  the  cabin  of  an  old  man 
named  Smyzer.  Do  you  know  anything  about  him  ?" 

"  What,  old  Ephraim  ?     To  be  sure,  I  do,  and  his  old  wife, 
too  —  a  pair  of  turtles  that  might  be  owls  for  the  good  looks  be 
tween  'em.     But  how  are  you  to  get  the  physic  there  ?" 
"  Carry  it  myself." 
"What!  to-night?" 

"  Yes  ;  as  soon  as  possible.  You  can  direct  me  as  to  the  road." 
"  Oh  !  that's  plain  enough.  It's  a  short  eight  miles.  Hardly 
more  than  seven,  I  think ;  good  enough  for  a  man  on  horseback. 
I  can  tell  you  all  about  it.  But  you're  getting  wondrous  chari 
table  of  late.  Time  was,  the  man  might  have  died  and  gone  to 
the  devil,  and  you'd  never  have  crossed  a  creature  to  carry  him 
physic  though  you  had  only  a  mile  to  travel.  What's  in  the 
wind  1" 

M'Kewn  answered  by  a  glance  only,  but  that  was  sufficiently 


KNAVES   PAIRING    OFF.  201 

significant  for  all  who  saw  it  They  readily  comprehended  that 
their  confederate  was  busy  in  the  common  cause.  It  was  not 
necessary  to  ask  or  answer  questions  where  the  parties  were 
satisfied  with  each  other. 

Meanwhile,  the  rattling  of  bolt  and  cordage  announced  the 
approach  of  the  vessel.  Soon  she  plunged  ahead  and  shot  into 
the  little  harborage.  A  brief  delay,  and  the  confederates 
boarded  her;  the  contents  of  the  medicine  chest  were  overhaul <  <!. 
and  M'Kewn  selected  'a  small  supply  of  such  medicines  as,  in 
that  day,  were  mostly  resorted  to  in  cases  of  fever.  Provided 
with  them,  he  wasted  no  time  on  matters  not  absolutely  essential 
to  the  objects  of  the  party.  He  quickly  returned  to  the  land,  hav 
ing  first  called  Drummond  aside.  He  led  him  into  the  wood, 
and  at  once  proceeded  to  unfold  his  further  designs. 

"  I  do  not  see  that  this  fellow,  Bostwick,  can  be  of  any  further 
use  to  us  here,  Drummond.  On  the  contrary,  he  may  be  troub 
lesome.  He  promises  to  be  so,  as  you  see.  We  must  get  rid 
of  him.  He  has  been  a  good  woodman  ;  he  may  become  a  good 
seaman.  Forbes  is  short-handed,  and  will  have  no  objection  to 
a  sharp,  lithe  active  fellow  who  will  soon  learn  to  run  up  a  rope, 
as  he  has  run  up  a  tree.  You  must  get  him  employment  in  the 
transport." 

"  But  will  Bostwick  be  willing  ]" 

"  By  no  means  !  These  fellows  rarely  know  what  is  best  for 
them.  We  must  help  him  against  himself.  Give  him  a  good 
berth  whether  he  wishes  it  or  not.  Get  him  on  board  to-night, 
on  some  pretext,  and  take  him  off  with  you.  Invite  him  to  a 
match  at  cards.  His  love  of  money,  and  his  passion  for  gaming 
will  make  it  an  easy  matter  to  do  this,  particularly  if  he  is  well 
fuddled.  If,  however,  you  can't  persuade  him,  hoist  him  on 
board,  and  make  sail.  He  will  be  reconciled  to  it  after  a  while 
and  when  you  have  given  him  a  taste  of  your  sea  pleasures  — 
nightly  drinking  and  gaming.  When  ashore  at  Jamaica,  leave 
him  there.  It  is  to  him  a  sort  of  rum  and  sugar  paradise  where 
he  may  be  well  content  to  stay.  At  all  events,  there  will  be  no 
policy  in  bringing  him  back.  Se'  (o  it.  I  shall  ride  at  once 
to  see  this  fellow,  Hines.  Try  :«nd  have  it  all  over  before  I  re 
turn.  I  do  not  care  to  see  him  again.  He  is  already  half 
drunk.  Go  back  to  the  tent,  and  resume  th<jv  cards.  Bet  as 


262  WOODCRAFT. 

highly  as  he  may  desire.  Let  him  win  for  awhile.  You  can 
recover  all  your  losses  on  the  voyage.  Above  all,  and  to  effect 
all,  keep  him  well  soaked.  The  rum  will  make  all  easy." 

Drammond  liked  the  project.  He  offered  no  objections. 
Without  having  any  motive  so  grave  as  that  of  M'Kewn —  with 
out,  indeed,  having  any  knowledge  of  the  particular  reason 
which  the  latter  had  for  getting  the  squatter  out  of  the  way  — 
he  yet  saw  that  the  proceeding,  might,  in  some  degree,  contrib 
ute  to  the  common  cause.  Besides,  Drummond  had  a  passion  for 
fun,  and  the  abduction  of  the  squatter  promised  ample  store  for 
merriment. 

"  It  will  be  comical,"  said  he,  "  when  the  fellow  wakes  and 
finds  himself  out  of  sight  of  land.  Won't  he  look  wild  ?" 

The  plan  being  properly  understood,  the  parties  separated, 
M'Kewn  at  once  taking  horse,  without  showing  himself  at  the 
tent,  and  speeding,  with  all  possible  haste,  toward  the  cabin  of 
old  Ephraim  Smyzer.  Two  hours  as  he  had  calculated,  brought 
him  to  the  place.  The  family  had  retired  for  the  night ;  but 
M'Kewn's  business  was  urgent  and  he  prepared  to  rout  them  up. 
His  entrance  into  the  enclosure  brought  upon  him  the  fierce  as 
sault  of  a  couple  of  hounds,  the  attentions  of  which  made  him 
rather  slow  to  dismount ;  but  he  kept  them  off  with  his  whip, 
and  made  his  way  to  the  steps  of  the  house,  which  consisted  of 
three  huge  pine  blocks  leading  to  a  low  piazza,  into  which,  as 
there  was  no  railing  around  it,  he  alighted  directly  from  the  sad 
dle.  Fastening  his  horse  to  one  of  the  columns,  he  thundered 
at  the  door,  keeping  close  watch  upon  the  dogs,  which  had  as 
cended  the  piazza  also,  but  hung  about  the  steps,  seeming  in 
some  degree,  to  respect  the  house,  if  not  the  intruder.  But  they 
did  not  spare  their  tongues  if  they  did  their  teeth.  Their  clam 
ors  were  incessant,  and  between  their  music,  and  the  tune  kept 
upon  the  door  by  M'Kewn's  stick,  the  inmates  of  the  hovel  were 
soon  aroused. 

"  Who's  tliar  ?"  was  the  demand,  in  a  female  voice. 

"  It's  the  doctor,"  answered  M'Kewn,  promptly.  His  cue  had 
been  adopted  long  before,  by  which  he  included  himself  among 
the  faculty.  "  You've  got  a  sick  man  here,  haven't  you  ?" 

"Yes;  I  reckon  ;  and  I'm  sick  myself,"  answered  the  old  wo 
man,  opening  the  door,  nnd  displaying-  herself  in  her  night  dress 


KNAVES    PAIRING    OFF.  263 

—  a  very  short  one  —  with  a  ragged  blanket  over  her  shoulders, 
and  a  blazing  torch  of  lightwood  in  her  hand. 

"  Won't  you  come  in,  doctor,"  she  said.  "I'm  mighty  glad 
to  see  you.  The  poor  man's  got  the  fever  yit,  and  a  mighty  hot 
fever  it  is." 

"Where  is  he?"  was  the  eager  inquiry  which  M'Kewn  made, 
pushing  in  as  he  spoke. 

"  Well,  now,  jest  set  down  a  bit,  doctor,  while  I  light  the  fire  ;" 
and  the  good  woman  squatted  down  to  the  occupation  on  the 
hearth.  A  grunt  from  the  bed  in  one  corner,  drew  M'Kewn's 
attention  to  that  quarter. 

"  Is  it  Doctor  Ferney  ?"  asked  old  Ephraim. 

"  No  ;  I'm  Doctor  Warlcy." 

"  Yis!  I  hearn  of  you,  —some whar'  about  Dorchester,  I'm  a- 
thinking.  Well,  doctor,  I'm  mighty  glad  you're  come  to  do  some 
thing  for  the  poor  man  what's  sick  here ;  and  something  for  all 
on  us.  I'm  sick  myself  with  an  awful  bad  turn  of  rheumatiz  — 
one  whole  side  of  me  is  a'most  useless,  doctor;  I  kain't  well 
straighten  myself  these  times.  Kain't  you  give  me  something 
to  do  me  good?" 

The  fire  byr  this  time  was  kindled,  and  the  old  woman  inter 
posed  with  her  complaints  which  were  chronic  also,  like  those  of 
her  husband.  We  spare  her  narration.  M'Kewn  was  not  un 
prepared  for  any  emergency.  He  knew  the  people,  their  usual 
ailments,  and  the  faith  which  they  had  in  professional  art.  But 
he  was  too  anxious  about  the  patient  he  had  come  to  see,  to 
suffer  any  delays  of  the  interview. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  as  this  poor  fellow  has  a  hot  fever,  his  case 
is  the  most  pressing.  We'll  see  what  his  condition  is  first,  and 
then  attend  to  yours." 

He  was  conducted  accordingly  to  the  shed-room  where  Hines 
lay.    The  patient  was  awake,  and  welcomed  the  supposed  physi 
clan  with  profound  satisfaction.    Dr.  Warley  —  as  he  called  him 
self — sat  down  upon  the  pallet  by  the  sick  man,  and  grasped  his 
wrist  with  a  professional  promptness  that  would  have  done  honor 
to  the  regular  faculty  —  then  shook  his  head  slowly  with  a  very 
deliberative  nod.     Mrs.  Smyzer  was  disposed  to  linger  and  to 
mingle  in  the  conference  ;  but  this  by  no  means  suited  our  medico 

"  Leave  us,  my  good  woman  !     The  secrets  of  the  sick  are  to 


264  WOODCRAFT. 

be  respected.     I  will  see  to  your  .ailments,  and  those  of  your  old 
man,  when  I  have  got  through  with  the  case  : •".  Mr.  Hines." 
The  good  woman  retired. 
"  You  knows  me,  then  ]"  quoth  Hines. 

"  To  be  sure  !  Bostwick  is  an  old  patient  of  mine.  He's  done 
many  a  pretty  turn  for  me,  and  I've  saved  him  many  a  time 
when  he  was  on  his  back.  He  begged  me  to  ride  here  to  night 
I'd  have  done  it  for  no  other  man.  But,  in  truth,  I  know  all 
about  his  affairs  and  yours.  He  counsels  with  me  about  other 
tilings  than  physic." 

"Oh!  ho!"  said  Hines,  —  and  he  straight  began  to  suspect 
that  his  worthy  physician  had  been  the  employer  of  the  party 
on  its  late  expedition  —  a  secret  which  Bostwick  had  studiously 
kept  to  himself.  The  next  thought  with  the  sick  outlaw,  was  to 
ascertain  what  had  been  the  reward  which  had  tempted  the 
squatter.  His  cupidity  taught  him  to  suspect  that  Bostwick  had 
monopolized  the  lion's  share,  as  is  too  common  in  all  such  cases 
"  I'll  pump  him  about  it,"  was  the  almost  spoken  resolve  of 
Tony.  The  two  parties,  it  will  thus  be  seen,  had  each  a  covert 
object  to  be  gained,  in  each  case  demanding  some  exercise  of  in 
genuity.  As  the  very  being  a  rogue  always  implies  some  degree 
of  ingenuity,  it  is  needless  for  us  to  say  that  the  hopeful  pair 
were  quite  equal  to  the  objects  entertained.  We  shall  be  com 
pelled,  however,  to  omit  many  of  the  details,  and  much  of  the 
dialogue  between  them,  and  report  results  rather  than  the  process 
by  which  they  were  reached.  It  was  M'Kewn's  object  to  appear 
quite  familiar  with  the  squatter's  affairs.  It  was  the  policy  of 
Tony  to  show  the  doctor  that  he  had  a  sufficient  inkling  of  the 
relations  existing  between  the  parties. 

"  You  have  a  very  hot  fever,  Tony ;  but  you  owe  it  as  much 
as  anything  else,  to  the  scenes  through  which  you  have  gone.— 
You've  had  a  hard  time  of  it.  But  Bostwick  don't  spare  his  men 
I  warned  him  to  be  careful  of  what  he  was  about." 

"  He  didn't  mind  you  much,  doctor.  Bost  is  too  quick  a  leetle. 
He  don't  look  about  him  enough.  But  you  paid  him  too  well, 
doctor,  that  was  it !  He  was  so  keen  for  his  pay,  and  he  didn't 
watch  both  mids  of  the  road  close  enough." 

"  I  paid  him  !  —  oh  !  yes  !  as  you  say,  he  was  too  quick  for  his 
pay  to  do  his  work  properly.  And  that's  the  reason  of  all  the1 


KNAVES   PAIRING    OFF.  265 

misfortune.     He  bungled  badly,  and  lost  all  he  came  for.     Bui 
lie  got  the  box  and  papers,  eh  ?" 

"  Box  and  papers  !" 

"  Yes ;  didn't  he  1  He  made  sure  of  that  ?  Of  course,  yon 
know." 

•'  Know  ?    I  reckon  I  do.   But  about  the  box  and  papers " 

(  He  got  them  from  the  carriage !" 

«•  He  did?" 

"  He  says  so  ;  of  course  he  did  !  Didn't  you  help  search  the 
carriage  ?" 

"  No  !  dern  his  liver,  I  didn't !  That  was  what  he  was  arter 
then  !  We  helped  knock  down  the  driver,  and  tie  tlie  fellows 
and  the  woman,  but  'twas  him  that  s'arched  the  carriage." 

"  Well,  didn't  you  know  what  he  found  there  —  the  box,  the 
money,  and  the  papers  V 

"  Box  of  money !  No,  there  was  no  money.  I  axed  him, 
and  Morris  axed  him,  but  he  swore  there  wasn't  no  money." 

"Oh!  you  surely  forget.  Bostwick's  an  honest  fellow.  He 
wouldn't  cheat  me  —  wouldn't  tell  me  a  lie,  I'm  sure.  He  found 
the  box,  I'm  sure." 

"  Honest,  you  say !  Well,  I  reckon  he  is,  and  I  reckon  every 
man's  honest  tell  he's  found  out.  Ef  there  was  a  box  I  never 
seed  it,  and  ef  he  got  any  money  out  of  the  carriage,  then  he 
told  us  all  a-most  etarnal  lie,  for  he  swor  he  couldn't  find  nothing." 

"  All  was  in  the  box.     You  saw  that  /" 

"  No,  I  didn't." 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  Why  how  could  he  have  hidden  it  \  You  all 
helped  to  stop  the  carriage,  to  tie  the  women  and  the  men,  and 
',  ou  must  have  seen." 

"  Yes ;  we  did  help,  but  you  see,  the  dern'd  fox  of  a  fellow  — 
now  I  see  it  all  —  he  s'arched  the  carriage  first,  by  his  one  self, 
and  kept  us  at  a  distance  to  see  after  the  men  gone  ahead  and 
the  wagon  behind,  so  that  he  had  all  the  chances." 

•'  But,  if  he  got  it,  how  could  he  hide  it  from  you,  so  that  you 
shouldn't  see  even  the  box  ?" 

"  Easy  enough '  He  kept  us  all  busy,  and  he  kept  pretty 
much  with  the  woman.  Ef  anybody  seed  the  box  and  money 
besides  himself,  'twas  Ilafe  Burke,  and  he's  not  able  to  say  any 
thing  about  it  now.  Bostwick  swore  he  found  nothing." 

19 


^6  A'OOIH'RAFT. 

"  Oh  !  he  didn't  think  of  the  box  at  the  time.  But  I'm  sure 
fate  got  it.  He  says  so  now.  He's  hid  it  somewhere,  he  says " 

"In  the  swamp  !  He  had  chance  enough  for  it,  for  we  di\i- 
rted,  you  see,  one  set  agin  the  carriage,  one  agin  the  overseer 
and  hoy,  and  another  agin  the  wagon.  He  kept  the  carriage 
and  the  woman  to  himself,  and  was  a  long  time  about  'em.  But 
he  swore  there  was  no  money." 

"But  did  you  believe  the  story?  Did  you  suppose  that  tin- 
widow,  who  is  so  rich,  would  go  to  the  country  and  take  no 
money  with  her  —  even  if  it  were  only  a  stocking  full  of  shillings 
for  chicken  money.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  she  had  a  hundred 
guineas  in  that  box  !" 

"  A  hundred  guineas  !  The  etarnal  cheat !  And  you  paid  him 
so  well,  too." 

"  I !  —  oh  !  we  wont  say  what  hand  I  had  in  the  matter,  seeing 
that  it's  turned  out  nothing.  The  box  might  be  worth  something 
now,  if  we  had  it." 

"  Dern  the  box,  I  say  ;  and  dern  that  fox  of  a  fellow  th.it 
kept  his  mouth  shet  all  the  while  about  the  box.  Now,  look 
you,  I  kin  jest  show  the  chance  he  had  for  gutting  the  carriage 
and  hiding  a  dozen  boxes" — and  he  proceeded  to  give  such  a 
full  account  of  the  whole  adventure,  as  served  to  confirm  the 
story,  told  by  Bostwick,  and  to  satisfy  M'Kewn  that  the  squatter, 
in  all  probability,  had  secured  the  papers.  The  sick  ruffian 
iroused  himself  at  the  squatter's  appropriation  of  the  spoil,  allow- 
3d  himself  no  reserve,  and  went  into  particulars  which  supplied 
many  gaps  in  the  narrative  as  given  by  the  latter.  M'Kewn 
istened  coolly,  egging  the  fellow  on  by  a  word  thrown  in,  now 
and  then,  at  the  right  moment.  He  now  recalled  certain  stu 
dious  efforts  of  Bostwick  to  send  all  his  confederates  out  of  sight, 
and,  in  fact,  accounted  for  the  failure  to  secure  the  negro-girl, 
by  the  solicitude  of  the  squatter  to  put  the  mysterious  box  out 
of  sight. 

"  Well,  I'm  sorry  I  told  you  of  the  box  and  the  hundred  guin 
eas  ;  but  I  really  supposed  you  all  knew  what  was  done.  Bost 
wick  didn't  speak  of  it  as  any  secret,  and  I  reckon  he'll  give 
you  your  share  of  the  money.  He  only  forgot." 

"Forgot!  1)  —  n  him  !  He  forgot  a-purpos  o  !  Now,  of  all 
Hie  money  you  gin  him  iu  this  business "  , 


KNAVES    PA1UIN<;    OFF.  207 

•'Who?  I!  —  oh!  no!  I  suppose  somebody  employed  him 
Mild  paid  him  well,  but  I  am  only  his  friend  when  lie's  in  trouble." 

"  Hem  !  oh  !  yes  !  I  onderstnnd  !  It's  only  right  not  to  say 
too  much.  But  I  reckon  he  got  famous  pay  beforehand." 

"  Very  likely.     Hundreds,  no  doubt !" 

"  What !  guineas  !" 

"To  be  sure  —  guineas.  To  do  such  a  business  as  you  went 
on  must  have  called  for  a  round  pocket  full.  Bostwick  is  not  tho 
mail  to  look  at  such  work  for  less  than  a  hundred  for  himself." 

"  End  you  gin  him  ?     You  think  he  got  so  much  as  that  1" 

"Not  a  shilling  less  !" 

"  The  'tarnal  rascal !  Look  you,  doctor,  give  me  the  physic 
and  let  me  get  out  of  this  fodder.  I  longs  to  jest  call  the  dern'd 
fellow  out  into  the  bushes,  and  ax  him  for  a  showing  of  his 
pockets." 

"  Oh !  you  musn't  quarrel.  I'm  sorry  I  told  you.  He'll 
make  it  all  right,  I'm  sure." 

"  Jest  you  make  me  well,  doctor.  I  longs  to  be  at  him.  I'll 
go  into  him  with  a  mighty  sharp  tooth." 

The  "  doctor"  again  felt  the  pulse  of  the  patient,  now  some 
what  heightened,  and  proceeded  to  prescribe  for  him.  An  enor 
mous  dose  of  Glauber's  salts  was  poured  into  a  tumbler,  and 
the  old  woman  was  called  on  for  Virginia  snake-root.  Of  this 
root  the  country  is  everywhere  full,  and  all  the  peasantry  is  well 
acquainted  with  it.  A  grain  of  tartar  was  deposited  among  the 
salts. 

"  It  will  disquiet  him  to  some  purpose,"  quoth  M'Kewn,  to 
himself,  as  he  mixed  the  medicines,  "  and  that  is  all,  perhaps, 
that  physic  ought  to  be  expected  to  do." 

There  were  other  words  between  himself  and  patient,  and 
when  he  left  him,  he  bestowed  a  reasonable  time  upon  the  old 
couple,  for  whose  ailments  he  left  other  medicines,  possibly  as 
wisely  chosen,  with  reference  to  the  intended  object,  as  the  salts, 
tartar  and  snake-root.  This  done,  our  soi-disant  doctor  did  not 
unnecessarily  delay  his  departure.  As  he  rode  away,  on  his  re 
turn,  he  stated  his  own  conclusion  to  himself,  thus  — 

44  He  has  got  box  and  papers  !  But  this  fellow  knows  nothing 
of  them,  and  he  is  the  only  other  survivor.  Bostwick  has  hid- 
ien  them  from  his  confederates,  whicL  is  pretty  much  like  hi 


2(58  WOODCRAFT. 

ding  them  from  all  the  world.  What  more  do  I  want  ?  If  he 
hides  them  from  ail  others,  I  am  quite  as  well  satisfied  that  he 
should  hide  them  fro~n  me.  Let  them  rot  in  their  hiding-place, 

and  let,  him  rot  in  Jamaica  or in  a  hotter  region  !     He  shall 

•rouble  me  no  more  !" 


CHAPTER    XL. 

THE    HAZARDS  *OF    THE    DIE. 

WHILE  M'Kewn  was  playing  tne  physician,  his  confederate^ 
Drummond  and  Barton,  had  made  their  way  back  to  the  tent 
where  the  squatter  had  been  left,  prepared  to  put  in  practice  the 
policy  which  the  first-mentioned  person  had  suggested.  They 
found  Bostwick  stretched  at  length  upon  the  ground,  with  his 
head  and  shoulders  resting  against  the  chest,  the  cup  of  Jamaica 
and  bottle  by  his  side,  and  a  pipe  in  his  mouth,  from  which  an 
occasional  puff  only,  betrayed  the  half-drowsy  state  of  the  smoker. 
He  roused  himself  up  as  they  came  in,  but  it  was  evident,  from 
his  flushed  face  and  the  wildness  of  his  eyes,  that  he  had  been 
exceedingly  frequent  in  his  potations,  and  was  now,  as  Drummond 
phrased  it,  in  a  whisper  to  his  associate,  "rather  the  worse  fof 
wear."  This  was  a  condition  that  promised  them  much  facility 
in  performing  the  duty  coniided  to  their  hands.  That  Bostwick 
suffered  from  the  effects  of  the  liquor  was  not,  however,  favora 
ble  to  his  amiableness  and  sweetness  of  temper.  His  natural 
sullenness  had  become  savageness,  and  he  abruptly  asked  - 
"  Where's  M'Kewn  ?" 

"  He's  about  somewhere.     He'll  be  in  directly." 
"  Well,  he'd  better.    I  kain't  wait  too  long.    I  wants  money  !" 
"  Why,  you've  got  money,  man  !     Where's  all  that  you  won 
from  us,  and  what  you  had  before  ?" 

"That!"  said  he,  thrusting  his  hands  into  his  pockets,  and 
dravdng  forth  and  displaying  the  contents  —  "What's  that!  I 
f  ell  you  I  wants  A  hundred  emineas  from  M'Kewn— not  a  guinea 
less — and  I  must  hev  n  . 


THE    HAZARDS    OF    THE    DIE.  'M* 

"A  hundred  guineas!"  exclaimed  Barton  in  unaflectod  aston 
ishment.  "Why,  what  the  devil  docs  he  owe  you  a  hundred 
guineas  for  ?" 

"  What !  But  that's  my  business  !  He  owes  ine  a  great  deal 
more,  ef  the  right  was  known,  and  I'll  make  him  know  it  afore 
I'm  done  with  him.  He's  too  mean  a  rascal,  by  thunder,  to  be  a 
white  man !" 

"  Look  you,  Bostwick,  that's  not  the  way  to  speak  of  a  person 
that's  finding  you  the  grub  you  eat !"  said  Barton.  Drummond 
nudged  his  companion,  and  in  a  whisper  said  — 

"  Don't  answer  the  drunken  fool,  or  answer  him  according  to 
the  folly  and  the  liquor." 

"  Grub  !  Find  me  !  Arid  who  the  h-11  tells  you  that  I  owes 
sich  a  fellow  as  M'Kewn  any  thanks  for  anything.  It's  he  owes 
me ;  and  he  shall  pay  me,  too,  or  sweat  for  it.  I  say  he's  as 
dirty  a  dog  as  ever  run  without  a  nose ;  and  ef  you  don't  like 
what  I  say,  jest  try  your  hand  to  make  me  speak  more  agreea 
ble  ;  and  see  what'll  come  of  that.  I'm  a  man  ceuy  day  for  my 
inches  against  the  inches  of  ceny  other  man!" 

"  Pshaw !  what  are  you  both  mouthing  about  ?  You're  both  of 
you  drunk,  I  reckon,  or  so  near  on  the  road  to  staggers  that  you'll 
never  reach  it  together.  Shut  up  both  of  you,  and  let's  have  a 
drink  all  round.  I'm  as  thirsty  after  work  as  a  bull-frog  after 
a  dry-shower.  Come,  Bostwick,  my  boy,  you  don't  mean  to  soak 
up  all  the  Jamaica  in  your  own  sponge." 

"  Thar  it  is  ;  —  I'm  not  onreasonable  with  ceny  man,  and  will 
jine  you,  ef  drinking's  the  word  and  no  offence  meant.  But  that 
don't  make  me  onsay  what  I've  said  of  M'Kewn.  He's  as  mean 
as  gar-broth,  and  a  rascal  to  boot!" 

"  Well,  that's  just  as  you  and  he  pleases.  We  shan't  fight  for 
either  of  you.  You're  both  of  you  able  to  do  your  own  fighting 
I  reckon." 

"He  fight!"  quoth  the  squatter.  "Never!  onless  with  youi 
we'pon  or  mine.  He'll  use  our  fingers  for  the  skrimmage  always, 
yet  always  forgit  to  pile  our  hands  when  its  done.  I  say  he  owes 
rne  more  than  a  hundred  guineas,  ef  I'm  to  git  my  rights ;  and 
I'd  like  to  see  the  white  man  that  says  'lie'  to  me !" 

This  was  said  rising,  and  with  a  fierce  look  at  Barton.  Drum 
mond  again  nudged  his  companion,  in  order  to  check  any  obulli- 


270  WOODCRAFT. 

tion  of  defiance  which  he  might  be  disposed  to  offer ;  a  necessary 
precaution,  as  Barton  was  one  of  that  irritable  race  who  too  fre 
quently  smelt  the  lire,  when  there  was  really  nothing  to  he  found 
but  smoke. 

"  Psho  !"  interposed  the  peace-maker,  Drummond.  "  Why  the 
devil  do  you  talk  of  fight,  when  I  talk  of  drink.  None  but  a  fool 
fights  so  long  as  the  liquor  lasts.  Here,  hand  up  the  bottle,  Bost, 
if  you're  sober  enough  for  it,  and  empty  your  cup.  I  go  for  a 
full  swallow  all  round,  fresh  from  the  fountain.  Come,  Barton, 
smooth  off  your  rough-dry  visage,  and  suck.  You  shall  drink 
first,  if  not  too  bashful ;  and  if  you  are  that,  leave  it  to  me  to 
show  you  how  the  thing  may  be  done.  Quick  with  the  cup, 
Bostwick,  there's  no  time  to  be  lost.  I  want  to  get  at  the  pic 
tures.  I  want  to  win  back  some  of  my  money." 

"  Or  put  a  leetle  more  into  the  heap,"  answered  the  squatter, 
as  he  carried  the  cup  to  his  lips,  and  emptied  it 

"  Now  fill,"  quoth  Drummond. 

"  After  you  first." 

"  Well,  there's  no  use  taking  up  precious  time  making  faces ; 
here,  boys,  is  good  luck  to  all  good  fellows.  The  world's  made 
up  of  two  sons  of  people  —  those  who  live  for  other  people,  and 
those  who  live  by  other  people.  I'm  one  of  the  last,  but  I  don't 
complain  or  quarrel  with  the  first,  seeing  that  we  can't  exactly 
do  without  'em.  I'm  for  live  and  let  live." 

"  That's  what  I'm  a  thinking.  It's  only  jest  right  and  nateral," 
responded  the  squatter,  warmly.  "  I  aint,  anyhow,  an  onreason- 
able  man.  You  first,  Mr.  Barton,"  he  continued  with  amiable 
tone,  but  with  something  ceremonious  in  his  manner. 

"  Drink  yourself,"  said  Barton,  "  I  aint  in  a  hurry." 

"  And  I  aint  in  no  hurry  neither,"  answered  the  squatter.  "I 
aint  such  a  dog  when  I'm  a-tharsting,  that  I  must  jump  right 
into  the  pond." 

This  was  said  doggedly.  He  had  not  been  sufficiently  recon 
ciled  to  the  other,  not  to  misconstrue  everything  that  he  said. 
Barton  saw  his  error. 

•'  Oh  !  I  didn't  mean  that,  Bostwick;  so  don't  be  wolfish.  I'll 
drink  and  have  done  with  it;  so,  fill  up  for  me,  Drummond 
Your  health,  men,  and  good  profits  always  to  good  fellowship." 

"And  righteous  pay  when  th«  work  is  done,''  added  BostwK-k 


THE    TIAZAUDS   OF   THE    DIE.  271 

"  Amen  !"  quoth  Drummond.  "That's  good  doctrine!  And 
now,  hoys,  as  we've  got  no  more  to  do  to-night  much,  any  of  us, 
shall  we  turn  up  the  pictures.  I'm  ready  to  face  you  with  the 
goldfinches,  Bostwick.  I  got  a  small  supply  from  Forbes.'' 

"  Forbes  !  who's  he  ?" 

'  The  captain  of  the  schooner,  and  a  fellow  you're  born  to  like." 

"  I  doesn't  know  him." 

"  But  you  will.  And  that  reminds  me.  What  say  you  to  go 
ing  aboard  ?  We  can  play  there  better  than  here,  and  there's 
(MIC,  more  man  with  money  in  his  pockets." 

«  Who  — the  captain?" 

"Yes;  to  be  sure  —  Forbes;  a  fine  fellow  as  ever  tripped  an 
anchor,  and,  I  reckon,  with  guineas  enough  to  buy  and  sell  us 
all.  He  hasn't  been  sailing  between  Charlestown  and  Jamaica 
these  five  years  not  to  have  crammed  more  than  one  sea-chest 
to  bursting." 

"  Let  him  come  here,"  said  Bostwick. 

"  He  can't !  Can't  leave  the  vessel.  But  he'll  be  infernal  glad 
to  see  us  aboard,  and  will  give  us  the  best  of  liquors,  a  good 
table,  good  lights,  and  a  supper  after  it,  —  all  much  better  than 
we  can  get  here.  What  say  you?" 

"  I'm  willing,"  answered  Barton. 

"I  ain't,"  was  the  reply  of  the  squatter.  "I  don't  like  the 
smell  of  the  sea  and  the  smell  of  the  ship.  It  always  hurts  me, 
and  makes  me  feel  oneasy.  Give  me  the  feel  of  the  solid  airth 
under  my  foot.  It's  a  sort  of  tempting  of  Providence  to  try  to 
ride  or  walk  on  a  shifting  thing  like  the  water.  The  Jamaica  is 
good  enough  for  me,  jest  here,  and  I've  found  it  a  good  thing 
without  any  water  at  all." 

Barton  would  have  argued  the  case  with  the  squatter,  but. 
Drummond,  the  better  politician,  yielded  the  point  at  the  proper 
moment,  and  before  the  victim  should  have  suspected  the  hook 
concealed  in  the  untaken  bait.  He  made  a  merit  of  necessity, 
and  declared  himself  quite  satisfied  with  any  arrangement,  par 
ticularly  if  it  called  for  no  delay. 

"  We  are  enough  for  fun,"  said  he,  "  and  have  gold  enough  for 
a  smart  fight  till  the  small  hours.  Whether  I  lose  or  win,  I  shall 
sleep  sound  enough  when  the  time  comes  for  it.  Square  vourself 
round.  Barton,  and  haul  up  your  legs.  Bost,  throw  a  few  light- 


272  WOODCRAFT. 

wood  knots  into  the  fire.  Let's  see  what  we're  doing.  And  now 
put  up  your  pennies.  How  do  we  begin  —  small  or  large  —  white 
or  yellow  ?" 

"  When  I've  once  had  the  feeling  of  the  yellow,  I  don't  like 
to  touch  the  white,"  quoth  Bostwick,  "  but  we'll  begin  small,  cf 
it  pleases  you."  And  he  put  up  a  single  guinea.  The  others  did 
the  same.  The  cut  was  made  for  the  deal,  which  fell  to  Barton, 
and  the  hands  were  dealt  round. 

"  Let's  liquor  before  we  begin,"  cried  Drummond,  laying  down 
his  cards. 

"  I'm  agreeable,"  said  Bostwick,  reaching  round  for  the  cup 
and  bottle.  Again  they  drank;  the  sly  Drurnmond  barely  dash 
ing  the  water  with  the  rum,  and  Barton  imitating  his  forbearance. 
The  squatter  always  drank  in  good  faith ;  his  own  tastes  never 
allowing  him  to  suppose  that  his  associates,  in  order  to  circum 
vent  another,  would  ever  deny  themselves.  He  was  further  de 
ceived  by  Drummond's  eloquent  declarations  in  favor  of  good 
liquor.  It  was  his  frequent  topic,  and  he  even  volunteered  a 
dithyrambic,  of  rude  fashion  —  probably  his  own  —  the  burden  of 
which  gave  a  most  glowing  picture  of  the  glory  of  the  bacchana 
lian,  and  a  most  melancholy  one  of  the  sorrows  of  temperance, — 
which  was  fiercely  chorussed  — 

"  'Tis  the  milk-sop  that  withers  in  autumn, 
And  shakes,  in  tho  winter,  with  chill, 
Not  he  who  dives  clown  in  the  bottle, 

And  grows  warm  hy  the  fire  of  the  still!" 

"  A  mighty  good  song  that,  Drummond ;  ef  I  could  sing,  I'd 
larn  it.  'Twould  be  good  to  sing  when  a  fellow  had  no  liquor. 
'Twould  almost  warm  him  of  itself;  jest  as  one  feels  warm  if  he 
only  smells  at  the  empty  jug  where  the  Jamaica  has  been  kept. 
Spade's  trump,  —  asid  there's  a  lead  for  you." 

The  devil !  The  ace  !"  cried  Barton,  throwing  down  the  ten 
of  the  same  suit. 

"  Heh  !  I  had  you  then  !"  cried  the  squatter,  with  a  chuckb 
"  I  wonder  ef  there's  no  more  p?a-ties  in  danger,  standing  without 
any  company.  I'll  fish  for  'em." 

And  the  ace  was  followed  by  the  king. 

"  Dickins  !  why,  you're  a  witch,  Bost !"  was  the  cry  of  Drum- 
tnond,  as  he  yielded  his  knave  to  the  lead 


THE    HAZARD    OF    TIIK    DIK.  273 

"It's  luck  only — it's  time  1  bad  some,  I'm  a-tliinking. 
Count  up.  I've  one  to  go." 

In  a  few  minutes  more  the  squatter  gathered  up  the  stakes. 

"We'll  double!"  said  Barton,  pushing  up  two  guineas. 

"Ditto!"  quoth  Drummond,  doing  likewise. 

"  I'm  agreeable  to  anything  when  the  luck's  with  me,"  was 
the  response  of  the  squatter,  and  the  game  was  resumed  with 
new  interest.  Other  games  followed,  and  the  fortunes  of  the 
squatter  were  rising. 

"  Let's  liquor,  boys.  It  may  change  the  luck,"  was  again  the 
proposition  of  Drummond,  carried  nem.  diss.,  and  the  parties 
drank. 

"I  wonder  where  M'Kewn  is!  —  d — n  his  splinters!"  cried 
Bostwick,  as  Barton  now  gathered  up  the  stakes. 

"  Be  here  directly.  He's  at  the  vessel,  I  reckon.  If  you're 
tired,  we'll  go  there." 

"  Tired  !  I'd  like  to  see  the  man  what  could  tire  me  out  at 
this  business.  Push  on,  Barton.  We're  a-waiting." 

"It'll  come  soon  enough,  Bostwick,  for  you;  for  I  reckon 
luck's  changing,  and  I  mean  to  root  you  out  to-night." 

"  Kaint  be  did,  by  any  man  of  your  timbers,  I'm  a-thinking. 
What's  that  ?" 

"  A  diamond." 

"  Throw  on  more  lightwot)d  —  there's  no  seeing  what  one's  got." 

"  That's  only  because  you've  got  so  little,  I  suppose.  What 
do  you  do  ?" 

"  Stand,  by  jingo  !     Play  to  that !"  flinging  down  a  card. 

"  So'I  will,  and  one  you  wont  be  liking  much  " 

"  The  devil !     You  hoi  the  ace  !" 

"  Yes ;  and  the  deuce  too  F' 

"  Jimini !  that's  what  I  call  mighty  bad  fortin.  I  stood  on 
king  and  tray." 

"  Cut  on  both  ends,  high  and  low  ;  and  look  at  that  and  that !" 
flinging  down  knave  and  ten. 

•  Criki  —  Lord  !  what  an  etarnal  hand  !" 

"  Scared,  Bost  ?" 

"  Skear'd,  never!  —  see  by  that,  if  I'm  skear'd  !"  And  he 
now  thrust  up  five  guineas,  and  demanded  that  they  should  bo 
covered. 

12* 


274  WOODCRAFT. 

•*  You're  sworn  to  make  a  short  night  of  it,  Bost !"  said  Drum, 
mond.  "  At  that  rate,  the  time  of  some  of  us  will  be  short,  too  !" 

"  Cut  loose  !"  cried  the  squatter  —  "  I'm  the  old  sarpent  now. 
I'll  wind  you  up." 

"  I  must  have  another  sup  of  Jamaica,  boys,  to  give  me  heart 
!;>  begin,"  said  Drummond.  ^'There's  too  much  to  lose,  on  an 
empty  stomach.  Who  says  for  a  sup'?" 

"  I'm  consenting  !"  was  the  pliant  answer  of  Bostwick.  "  But 
where  the  d — 1  is  M'Kewn  ?" 

"  He's  about !  He'll  be  here  directly.  And  now,  boys  —  the 
bold  better,  the  honest  winner,  and  to  him  who  can  keep  what 
he  gits."  » 

"  It's  a  wise  man  to  be  all  three,  I'm  a-thinking,  but  I  drinks 
it  with  a  whoop  !  Whoop  !  whoop  !  hurrah  !  for  the  first  horse 
and  the  best  shot !  Whoop  !  whoop  !  hurrah  !  and  the  devil 
take  M'Kewn!" 

"Arnen!"  quoth  Drummond,  echoing  the  pious  adjuration  — 
then,  in  a  whisper  to  Barton  —  "The  snake's  bitten  him  fairly. 
It's  time  that  we  should  win,  now.  When  his  gold's  all  goho 
he'll  probably  be  willing  to  go  too." 

"  Whoop,  old  fellows,  and  at  your  p'inters  !  I'm  the  old  sar 
pent,  I  tell  you,  and  am  going  into  you  with  a  horn.  Whar's 
t1  ^  gowld  !  oh  !  thai* !  It's  fifteen  guineas  I'm  to  take  up." 

'*  If  you  can." 

"  Ef  I  kin  !  Ef  be  hang'd  !  I'm  the  man  to  take  '  of  by 
the  collar,  and  make  him  work  in  my  harness.  '  Ef V  no  mas 
ter  of  mine,  and  never  was  !  I  kin  send  him  to  the  right  about 
with  a  whoop  !  whoop  !  whoop  !  hurrah  !  and  into  the  shiners  !" 

The  cards  were  to  be  dealt  by  the  squatter ;  but  he  had  so 
many  ejaculations  to  make,  and  a  pause  accompanying  each, 
that  the  process  was  a  slow  one. 

"  Three  to  you,  Drummond  !  —  whoop,  old  fellow,  I  likes  you." 

"  And,  thus  speaking,  he  threw  the  arm,  with  the  card  hand. 
about  the  neck  of  the  preferred  companions,  and  drew  him  lov 
ingly  over  into  his  lap. 

"I  always  thought  you  a  good  fellow,  Bostwick,  of  a  most 
tender  heart." 

"  And  who  says  I  ain't  ?  I'm  as -tender  as  a  gal  child.  Oh  ! 
ef  y  u  could  only  see  my  Dory." 


THE    HAZARD    OF   THE    DIE.  275 

"  Your  what !"  asked  Drammond. 

"I  didn't  say  '  icliaf  /'  I  said  Dory!  Dory's  my  oldest  gal 
elfild,  and  a  beauty  of  the  forest,  and  nobody  shall  say  anything 
onrespec'ful  about  her." 

"  To  be  sure  not.     She  is  a  beauty." 

"  I  know'd  you'd  say  so.  You're  a  man  of  sense  and  .;  gen 
tleman,  Dmmmond.  You  shall  see  Dory  some  of  these  days. 
She's  a  gal  child  to  please  a  gentleman.  Well!  —  b'lt  why 
don't  you  play "?" 

"  Deal  out  the  cards,  then,"  said  Barton,  who  was  yearning  to 
restore  some  of  his  lost  gold  to  his  pocket. 

"Deal! — well,  I  swow !  but  I  hev'  the  pictars  in  my  own 
hand.  That's  strange.  How's  that  !" 

"Why,  to  be  sure — you're  dealing,  and  you've  given  me 
three.  Go  on  to  Barton." 

"  Three  to  you,  Barton,  and  three  to  me." 

The  deal  was  finished  after  some  further  maudlin  delay. 
Bostwick  picked  up  his  cards,  and  the  habit  of  play  contended 
successfully  for  awhile  with  his  drunkenness.  He  absolutely 
won  the  game.  Barton  became  captious,  and  was  kept  in  check 
only  by  the  vigilance  of  Dmmmond.  The  latter,  finding  that 
the  squatter  was  still  able  to  play  his  cards  with  habitual  skill, 
proposed  another  draught  of  Jamaica;  but  Bostwick  had  under 
gone  a  new  phase  of  drunkenness  and  feeling.  He  refused  dog 
gedly.  The  maudlin  had  given  place  to  the  sullen. 

"  No  !  I'm  blister'd  ef  I  do  !  I'll  not  drink  agin  jest  now. 
Drink  yerself,  ef  you  likes  it.  I  don't.  It  don't  do  me  no  good. 
I'm  a-thinking  of  my  children.  Jest  now,  I  talked  of  Dory,  and 
you  didn't  know  what  I  meant.  And  when  I  wanted  to  deal,  I 
forgot  all  about  it.  That  makes  me  know  I've  had  jest  enough 
for  a  sober  man.  Jamaica  ain't  a  sensible  liquor  ef  you  takes 
too  much  of  it.  I've  had  my  share  for  this  drinking." 

"  You're  right !"  quoth  Dmmmond.  "  I  proposed  as  a  matter 
of  course,  seeing  I  wanted  a  drink  myself,  but  it's  true,  Bost,  I 
thought  you  had  a  dose  large  enough  for  your  business  half  an 
Lour  ago." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  I'm  drunk  !" 

"  No  !  not  exactly  drunk,  but  a  little  in  the  fog,  that's  all !" 


276  WOODCRAFT. 

'*  In  the  fog !  It's  a  sign  of  fog  is  it,  when  I've  been  doing 
all  the  winning." 

"Psho!"  said  Barton.  "  That's  all  luck  — hick  don't  ask  if 
a  man's  drunk  or  sober  when  she  turns  on  his  side." 

"  You  think  so  !  It's  luck  !  well !  we'll  try  luck  a  leetle  more. 
You  don't  mind  fattening  the  sheep  ?" 

;<  How  much  ?" 

"  Oh  !  it  don't  matter ;  put  down  your  go?/ld,  as  much  as  you 
wants  to  see  kivered.  That's  all  I  ax  !" 

The  pile  was  soon  raised.  The  cards  dealt ;  the  game  played 
and  the  prize  won.  Drummond  was  the  successful  gamester. 
His  succecs  continued  until  the  last  guinea  of  the  squatter  was 
put  up.  It  was  lost  also.  Bostwick  was  once  more  reduced  to 
his  shillings,  and  pretty  well  sobered  by  the  reverse  of  fortune. 
The  shillings,  in  turn,  became  the  prize  of  his  opponents,  and, 
starting  to  his  feet,  he  seized  the  bottle,  and  swallowed  a  fearful 
draught  of  the  fiery  liquor. 

"Where  is  that  bloody  satan,  M'Kewn?" 

"  Can  you  get  more  gold  from  him,  think  you  ?"  demanded 
Drummond,  with  a  pleasant  sneer  upon  his  countenance. 

"  Kin  I  ?"  he  answered.  "  Ef  I  let  him  off  with  less  than  a 
hundred  guineas,  may  I  never  taste  a  drop  agin." 

"  Let  us  seek  him  at  the  vessel.  I  have  no  doubt  we  shall 
find  him  there.  I'll  go  with  you  as  long  as  there  is  any  hope 
of  the  guineas." 

"  Come  then !  Blast  his  liver,  he's  a-dodging  me.  But  he 
don't  know  me  yit.  I'll  feel  the  bottom  of  his  pockets,  or  the 
bottom  of  his  heart,  this  time,  ef  he's  got  any." 

"Another  draught  before  we  start!"  cried  Drummond,  rising 
to  his  feet.  The  others  joined  him  in  his  potations.  Then  they 
all  proceeded  to  the  river  bank,  against  which,  almost  touching 
it,  lay  the  vessel. 

"  You'll  go  with  us  on  board  ?" 

"  No  !  You  go,  Drummond,  and  bring  him  out.  I'll  wait  for 
you  here." 

Barton  would  have  tried  to  persuade  him,  but  Drummond 
again  interposed. 

"  No,"  said  he,  "  there's  no  use.  If  he  gets  more  money,  he'lJ 
jnly  want  to  go  back  to  the  tent  to  play." 


THK    HAZARD    OK    TilK    DIE.  271 

And  the  tAvo  went  on  board  the  vessel,  which  lay  quiet,  rock 
ing  with  the  tide,  nobody  visible  on  her  decks,  and  everything 
silent  around.  They  soon  disappeared  from  the  sight  of  the  squat 
ter,  who  threAv  himself  down  on  the  grass  to  await  their  return 
with  M'KcAvn.  While  he  lay  there,  half  stupid,  yet  full  of  se 
cret  rages,  three  men  left  the  brigantine  and  approached  him. 
He  noted  their  appearance,  and  concluded  them  to  be  the  two 
persons  Avho  had  just  left  him,  returning  with  M'KeAvn.  Tliry 
had  reached  him,  when  he  discovered  that  they  were  stranp-is 
.•iiid  all  sailors. 

"Where's  M'Kcwn,"  said  he,  rising  to  his  feet. 

"  In  the  cabin-,"  was  the  reply  of  one  of  them,  "and  the  cap 
tain's  spinning  a  long  yarn.  He  says  you  must  come  to  him." 

"  I'll  see  him  d — d  first.     Tell  him  to  come-to  me." 

"  Oh  !  that's  all  gammon,  my  hearty.     You  must  go  to  him." 

With  these  words  the  spokesman  laid  a  hand  on  Bostwick's 
shoulder,  lightly  and  without  any  show  of  violence  ;  but  a  some 
thing  in  the  tone  and  manner  of  the  fellow  seemed  to  alarm  the 
squatter  ;  he  pushed  him  off,  recoiled,  and  clapped  his  hand  to  his 
side,  for  his  knife.  It  was  gone.  He  Avas  disarmed.  Not  a  mo 
ment  Avas  allowed  for  parley.  He  Avas  at  once  grappled  by  all 
the  three,  lifted  off  his  legs  in  a  moment,  and,  struggling  all  the 
while,  was  carried  on  board  the  vessel.  Suddenly,  he  was  let 
down  into  the  dark  but  open  hold,  and  slid  doAvn  and  a  AY  ay,  as 
he  thought,  into  the  bottomless  depths  of  the  sea.  But  he  soon 
encountered  a  solid  object.  He  rolled  over  a  pile  of  rice  barrels  ; 
and  grasped  at  them  Avith  the  hold  of  one  in  mortal  dread  of 
sinking.  The  stars,  for  a  single  instant,  were  visible  overhead. 
But  a  single  instant.  The  opening  was  then  darkened  by  the 
figures  of  his  captors.  He  strove  to  rise  and  shrieked  to  them 
in  question,  appeals  and  curses ;  but,  with  rude  laughter,  they 
clapped  down  the  hatches,  and  left  him  in  unmitigated  darkness. 

The  hours  went  by  wearily,  and,  in  utter  exhaustion,  the  cap 
tive  slept.  When  he  awakened,  he  almost  sAvooned  with  the 
sickness  which  he  felt.  The  billoAvs  were  rocking  beneath  him 
He  AAras  already  out  at  sea.  When  suffered  to  appear  on  deck, 
the  land  Avas  a  mere  riband  along  the  verge  of  the  ocean.  He 
was  flying,  perforce,  from  his%  familiar  swamps  and  fastnesses,  his 
\\  oman  and  her  children. 


278  WOODCRAFT. 

"  Oli !  Dory  !  Dory  !"  lie  cried,  as  this  conviction  forced  itself 
upon  him.  "  I'm  aguine  from  you,  the  Lord  only  knows  wlnar', 
and  maybe  won't  never  see  yon  no  more !" 

"  One  danger  disposed  of,"  said  M'Kewn,  to  himself,  as  he  left 
the  cabin  —  for  he  had  been  there  at  the  moment  when  the 
squatter  was  brought  on  board  —  "  and  if  Forbes  and  Drummond 
can  take  a  hint,  the  impudent  scoundrel  will  give  his  secrets  to  the 
sea  rather  than  the  air.  His  mouth  is  stopped  for  ever !" 

Not  so  fast,  M'Kewn.  The  sea  has  been  known  to  give  up  its 
secrets  as  well  as  its  dead.  We  shall  see  in  due  time  what  is  to 
come  of  all  this  ! 


CHAPTER   XLI. 
PORGY'S  NOTIONS  OF   THE  USEFUL. 

As  we  have  no  particular  motive,  just  now  at  least,  for  follow 
ing  the  fortunes  of  the  squatter  upon  the  seas,  let  us  return  to 
the  dry  land,  and,  with  all  speed,  to  the  rained  homestead  of 
Glen-Eberley.  We  left  Captain  Porgy  and  his  two  companions, 
Millhouse  and  Fordham,  about  to  console  themselves  with  sup 
per,  after  the  fatigues  of  the  fruitless  search  after  Bostwick. 
Lance  Frampton  had  gone  to  see  his  sweetheart,  and  the  party 
of  three  proved  quite  adequate  to  the  supper  in  his  absence. 
Torn,  the  cook,  had  recovered  his  good  humor;  Pomp,  the 
waiter,  after  a  frequent  lessoning  from  the  flat  broad  hands  of 
his  senior,  had  improved  in  knowledge  of  his  duties,  and  activity 
in  their  performance ;  and  the  evening  repast  had  been  enjoyed 
with  an  equal  degree  of  satisfaction  by  all  parties.  Fordham 
did  not  long  remain  after  supper,  but  took  his  leave  while  Porgy 
and  Millhouse  were  lighting  pipes.  While  he  remained,  however. 
he  was  an  amused  listener  to  the  guardian  councils  of  the  lattei 
whose  self-esteem  found  grateful  exercise  in  suffering  the  guest 
to  see  how  strictly  he  held  the  reins  of  authority  in  his  grasp, 
and  with  what  judgment  he  could  rebuke  the  want  of  it  in  his 
superior.  He  had  employed  himself  in  twitting  the  captain  with 


PORGY'S  NOTIONS  OF  THE  USEFUL.  279 

*11  the  thoughtless,  profligate  and  expensive  performances  of 
which  he  had  heen  guilty,  and  not  only  throughout  his  campaigns, 
but,  as  far  as  he  had  acquired  a  knowledge  of  them,  during  all 
his  life  previous.  The  suhject  had  been  brought  up  by  a  re 
peated  allusion  to  the  guinea  bestowed  upon  the  squatter's  child. 
"  It's  the  weakness  of  the  cappin,  Mr.  Fordham,"  quoth  he  — 
"his  wery  worst  infarmity.  I'm  a  most  thinking  its'  the  only 
one  he's  got  —  but  it's  a  mighty  bad  one  for  a  man  that  wants 
everything  on  his  plantation  for  the  working  of  a  crop.  Sich  a 
man  has  no  right  to  be  ginerous.  It's  a  sort  of  cutting  off  one's  own 
life  to  lengthen  other  people's.  Now,  all  through  the  war  'twas 
jest  the  same  thing.  He'd  be  a  giving,  whenever  he  had  it,  and 
to  all  sorts  of  people.  And  he  was  always  a  giving  to  them 
persons  from  whom  there  was  no  sort  of  reason  to  ixpect  to  git 
anything  back  again.  Now,  you  know,  there's  no  sort  of  charity 
in  doing  for  people  who  kain't  do  nothing  for  you.  The  proper 
sense  of  charity  is  always  to  git  back  for  it  a  leetle  more  and  a 
leetle  better  than  you  give.  But  Cappin  Porgy  could  never,  so 
far  as  I  see,  git  the  right  sense  of  chanty  and  ginerosity.  He 
was  always  a  wasting  himself  on  people  who  hadn't  nothing,  and 
warn't  in  the  way  to  git  anything.  Ef  there  was  a  poor  camp 
woman  that  had  lost  her  man  in  a  skrimmage,  the  cappin  was 
the  first  to  empty  his  pockets  into  her  lap.  I've  seed  him  do  it 
a  dozen  times.  Now,  that  was  all  great  foolishness.  Ef  he  had 
given  her  a  matter  of  three  or  four  English  shillings,  or  we'll 
say  five  or  ten  or  twenty  pounds  continental  currency,  after  it 
had  got  80  plentiful  that  one  might  work  with  a  pack  of  it,  and 
not  airh  his  potatoes  after  all  —  why  there  mout  have  been  a 
justifying  of  his  doings ;  but  to  fling  the  guineas  away,  the  raal 
grit,  all  yellow  jackets,  three,  five,  ten — jest  as  many  as  he  had 
—  when  the  shillings  would  have  done  as  well  —  that  was  the 
sin  and  the  foolishness  of  the  business.  And  the  cappin  has 
been  very  foolish  and  a  great  siniiei  in  that  way.  Then  he'd 
waste  himself  on  the  sort  of  company  he  kept,  Now,  cappin, 
what  t}id  you  ever  see  in  that  blasted  longshanks,  Oakenberg — 
that  called  himself  a  doctor  —  a  fellow  that  sickened  and  killed 
more  good  fellows  with  his  yarbs  and  poultices  than  he'll  ever 
meet  in  heaven  — what  did  you  see  in  that  skunk  of  a  fellow  to 
make  you  do  for  him  what  you  did]  Why,  Mr.  Fordliarn. 


280  WOODCRAFT. 

would  you  believe  it,  the  cappin  let  that  fellow  who  was  next 
door  neighbor  to  a  born  eediot,  set  at  his  mess  and  feed  daily, 
when  Oakenberg  couldn't  neither  bring  in  food  nor  game ; 
couldn't  work  nor  fight ;  was  the  skeariest  chap  you  ever  seed, 
and  could  only  talk  conceited  about  snakes,  and  how  to  be  safe 
in  fighting  in  the  army.  That  fellow  lived  on  the  cappin,  and 
though  the  cappin  dispised  the  fellow,  and  poked  all  sorts  of  fun 
at  him,  yet  he  gin  him  money,  and  clothes,  and  food,  when  he 
wanted  them  all  for  himself.  At  a  famous  scrimmage  we  had 
here  with  Fraser  at  Parker's  Ferry,  the  cappin  mounted  a  British 
officer,  and  told  him  to  deliver,  and  wanted  to  make  him  prisoner, 
but  the  red  coat  was  either  mighty  drunk  or  mighty  sassy,  and 
when  there  was  no  sense  in  it,  for  he  couldn't  git  off,  he  run  his 
horse  close  agin  the  cappin's,  and  flashed  his  pistol  in  his  face. 
Ef  the  dirty  leetle  we'pon  hadn't  a-missed  fire  I  reckon  he'd 
ha'  killed  him.  Well,  the  cappin  fired  up  furious,  and  cut  down 
the  poor  fellow  at  a  jerk  —  cut  him  clean  through  his  skull  to 
his  chin.  Tom  run  in  —  Tom  'members  all  —  don't  you,  Tom?" 

"  To  be  sure  I  'member,"  quoth  Tom,  "  wha'  for  bender1?  Maus- 
sa  owe  me  for  dat  ossifer  coat,  and  breeches,  and  boots,  he  gee  way 
to  de  doctor,  to  dis  day." 

"  That's  it !"  exclaimed  Millhouse.  "  That's  it !  Tom  ran  in, 
stripped  the  officer,  coat,  breeches,  boots  and  all,  and  ginerously 
offered  'ern  to  his  master,  the  cappin  there,  after  all  the  fighting 
was  over.  What  do  you  think  ?  Jest  at  that  moment  he  sees 
Dr.  Oakenberg,  with  his  long  shanks  and  high  shoulders  pretty 
nigh  naked,  and  he  kicks  the  whole  pile  over  to  Oakenberg." 

"  Das'  true,  mass  Millh'us !  Jes'  I  see  dat,  I  make  a  grab  at 
de  close;  —  de  doctor  hab  no  right  for  tak  'em;  —  and  maussa 
tu'n  round  short  and  kick  me  over.  Maussa  promise  for  pay  me 
guinea  for  em,  but  I  iiebber  see  de  shine  of  dat  guinea  face  to 
dis  day." 

"  It's  all  true,  Mr.  Fordham,  as  Tom  tells  you ;  he  kills  the 
red  coat  with  his  own  hands,  —  and  when  Tom  strips  him  he  gives 
his  rigimentals, — first  rate  broadcloth  coat,  hat,  boots  and  breeches 
to  the  meanest  and  most  undesarving  skunk  in  the  whole  army." 

"  Oh !  Millhouse,"  quoth  Porgy,  "  had  you  seen  the  wistful 
eyes  of  poor  Oakenberg,  as  he  saw  thr.ie  breeches,  and  looked 
down  at  his  own  bare  legs " 


POUGY'S  NOTIONS  OF  THE  USEFUL.  281 

"I) — 11  his  bare  legs!  He  had  the  meanest  looking  legs  in 
the  army " 

"  The  very  reason  why  they  should  he  covered  out  of  sight," 
quoth  Porgy. 

"  But  not  at  your  cost  and  ixpense  !" 

"  Why,  Millhouse,  licten  to  Tom,  and  he  will  tell  you  that  it 
v. 'as  at  his  cost  and  expense.  There  was  the  double  beauty  of 
my  procedure  :  I  not  only  clothed  the  naked,  but  compelled 
that  selfish  scoundrel,  Tom,  to  become  charitable. 

"  Psho '  don't  I  know  that  you'll  pay  Tom  yit !  Don't  I  know, 
and  don't  he  know,  that  he'll  git  more  than  he  bargained  for " 

"  What !  more  kicks  than  coppers  ?" 

"No!  more  goulden  guineas  than  you  promised.  The  truth 
is,  cappin,  that  you're  never  so  foolish  as  when  you've  got  money. 
You  don't  know  any  decent  way  to  git  rid  of  it.  There,  you  was 
always  for  having  that  fellow,  Dennison,  about  you,  eating  the 
'lowance  of  other  men,  and  drinking  more  than  his  share  of  the 
Jamaica  always  —  and  for  wiiat  1  What  could  he  do  1  He  warn't 
a  reasonable,  useful  man.  He  couldn't  cook  a  steak,  or  bake -a 
loaf,  or,  sew  his  own  breeches,  or  do  nothing.  He  could  only  joke, 
sing,  and  tell  redickilous  stories,  and  make  them  foolish  po'tries 
-tink-it-a-tank,  tink-it-a-tank  —  one  word  knocking  agin  another 
at  the  eend  of  the  line,  as  I  may  say,  agin  natur,  —  for  where  do 
you  hear  decent,  sensible  people  talking  with  a  bell  ringing  in 
their  ears  all  the  time  ?  That  fellow  couldn't  keep  anything — 
money,  clothes,  hat,  shoes, —  everything  went,  somehow,  and  yit 
the  fellow  was  such  a  blasted  fool  that  he  never  seemed  to  care 
about  it  at  all,  and  would  jest  keep  on,  laughing  and  singing,  and 
making  his  tink-it-a-tanks,  and  think-it-a-thanks,  Arith  a  sort  of 
looseness  that  was  vexatious." 

"  Come !  come !  Millhouse !  you  must  not  be  running  down 
my  poet.  Dennison  is  a  great  fellow  and  has  frequently  saved 
me  from  suicide.  More  than  once,  when  we  were  starving  in  the 
nwainps,  I  should  have  cut  my  throat,  or  yours,  Millhouse,  but  for 
the  consolation  which  Dennison  brought  me  in  his  verses  and 
songs ;  and  Oakenberg,  though  as  you  say,  a  great  fool,  was  yet 
r.  fool  with  a  relish.  He  had  the  virtue  of  making  himself  laughed 
at,  and  that  afforded  relief  to  sensible  people  He  had  his  uses, 
•.iiid  you  must  think  better  of  him.  I  shouldn't  be  at  all  surprised 


282  WOODCRAFT. 

to  see  both  Dennison  and  Oakenberg  here  before  long  I  asked 
them  both  to  come  and  see  me." 

"  The  d — 1  you  did  !     You  don't  say,  cappin." 

"  Ay,  but  I  do !  you  may  look  for  them  both  some  of  these 
days." 

The  sergeant  threw  up  hands  and  eyes  in  horror. 

"  Thar  it  is  !  The  old  way  !  Thar  is  no  eend  to  the  flinging 
away  of  some  men's  guineas.  Why,  Lord  bless  you,  cappin,  ef 
once  they  git  here,  you'll  never  git  shot  of  them.  They're  people 
to  stick  like  a  pitcli  plaster,  and  to  draw  like  a  mustard." 

"  Well,  they  must  %tick  then  !  Poor  devils,  they  must  stick 
somewhere.  The  world  owes  them  a  living,  and  they  must  have 
it.  They  Avere  born  to  a  certain  amount  of  sunshine,  and  if  they 
caii  find  it  at  Glen-Eberley,  while  I'm  master  of  it,  they're  wel 
come." 

"  Why,  save  you,  cappin  !  They'll  do  nothing  here  for  a  living. 
They  kain't  work  and  they  won't." 

"  Well,  if  they  can't  work  here,  they  can  work  nowhere, 
sergeant." 

"  That's  true  !  Let  'env starve  then  and  be !" 

"No!  no!  You  don't  say  that  from  your  heart  —  only  from 
your  head,  sergeant,  and  your  brains,  just  now,  have  got  into  a 
kinkt  in  consequence  of  the  care  and  anxiety  which  you  feel 
about  my  fortunes.  But  don't  be  afflicted.  Oakenberg  and  Den 
nison,  should  they  come  here,  will  both  work  for  me,  though  per 
haps  not  in  the  fields." 

"  I'd  jest  like  to  onderstand  how,  cappin." 

"How!"  quoth  Porgy,  emptying  his  pips,  —  then  looking  up 
and  around  him,  with  a  somewhat  vacant  gaze,  silent  the  while, 
as  if  listening  —  after  a  few  moments  of  pause  he  said  — 

"  Do  I  not  hear  a  bird  ?  a  mock-bird,  singing  ?  Hark  !  do  you 
not  hear  it  now  ?" 

All  parties  appeared  to  listen;  at  length,  says  Millhouse — 

"  It's  the  singing  of  the  fire,  I  reckon,  cappin.  I  don't  hear 
no  thing.  It's  too  soon  in  the  season  for  mocking  birds  to  sing." 

"  No  !  not  when  the  weather  is  good.  I  have  heard  them, 
years  ago,  in  all  the  trees  around  the  house,  singing  through  the 
winter,  and  frequently  at  night,  and  all  night.  They  attach  them' 
selves  to  old  and  well  settled  habitations,  and  will  rear  their  gene 


POBGT'S  NOTIONS  ov  THE  USEFUL.  283 

rations  for  a  thousand  years  in  tlie  same  trees,  if  left  undisturbed. 
They  belong  to  man.  I  am  disposed  to  think  they  were  creat 
ed  for  him,  and  to  do  this  particular  duty.  You  like  their  music, 
Mr.  Fordham,  do  you  not  ?" 

"  Well,  cappin,  I  can't  say  that  I  ever  hears  'em  much,  onlesa 
when  somebody  tells  me  to  listen.  As  for  liking  their  music,  I 
confess,  cappin,  I'd  much  rather  hear  a  good  fiddle." 

"  Aud  so  would  I,"  quoth  Millhouse,  "though  I  don't  count 
fiddle  music  as  much  either.  A  good  horn  is  my  music,  and  I 
count  a  boat  horn  on  the  river  as  the  sweetest  of  nil  kinds  of 
music.  I  kin  listen  to  that  hafe  a  night,  that  is,  when  I  ain't 
too  much  tired  and  hungry." 

"  I  like  that  too,  Millhouse,  and  I  can  relish  a  good  fiddle  in 
a  crowd.  But  what  would  you  think  of  a  person  who  should 
tell  you  that  hexlidn't  relish  the  boat  horn,  Millhous.e." 

"  Why,  I'd  say  he  might  as  well  be  stone  deaf  and  blind  too." 

"  At  least,  you  wouldn't  suppose  he  was  any  the  better  man 
for  not  having  an  ear  for  the  music  of  the  horn." 

"  No  !  I'd  be  thinking  he  was  rather  the  worse  for  it." 

"  Precisely  !  well,  you'll  permit  me  to  feel  the  music  of  a  bird's 
gong  and  not  think  me  very  foolish  or  wicked  perhaps,  if  I  say 
I  like  to  hear  it  very  much." 

"  Well,  I  s'pose  not !  Every  man  to  his  own  liking,  I  reck 
on  there's  a  sort  of  natur  in  every  man's  liking." 

"  Exactly  !  That's  the  very  word.  There  is  a  nature  in  it ; 
and  it  wa^s  to  feed  this  nature,  and  to  work  upon  it  in  a  myste 
rious  way,  that  God  appointed  the  birds  to  build  their  nests  in 
the  trees  that  surround  a  man's  dwelling.  Now,  you  must  know, 
that  it  is  a  fact,  however  curious,  that  singing  birds  never  harbor 
in  uninhabited  countries.  In  our  great  forests,  you  never  hear 
birds.  The  smaller  birds  would  become  the  prey  of  the  larger 
ones,  and  they  shelter  themselves  in  places  which  are  inhabited 
in  order  to  be  safe.  And  they  reward  man  for  his  protection, 
by  their  songs,  and  by  the  destruction  of  insects.  Now,  Mill- 
house,  Dennison  is  one  of  my  song  birds.  He  sings  for  me  when 
I  ain  sad.  He  makes  music  for  me  which  I  love.  It  is  sou\ 
music  which  I  owe  to  him,  which  finds  its  way  to  the  ear  of  the 
heart,  and  seems  to  fill  it  with  sunshine.  Now,  I  call  that 
very  useful  to  me." 


284  WOODCRAFT. 

"I  could  see  how  'twas  useful  ef  he  was  to  eat  up  the  grains 
and  insects,  jest  like  the  birds,  but " 

"  And  so  he  does,  Millhouse.  The  grubs  and  insects  of  the 
heart  are  its  cares,  its  anxieties,  its  sorrows,  its  bad  feelings,  and 
vexatious  passions.  He  drives  them  away  —  he  destroys  them, 
lie  is  appointed  for  this  very  purpose,  and  if  men  were  wise, 
they  would  rejoice  when  they  could  have  such  a  bird  of  the  soul 
under  their  roof  trees.  It  would  prove  that  they  had  souls,  if 
they  could  show  that  they  have  an  ear  for  his  music.  Now,  you 
are  not  any  better,  sergeant,  because  you  want  an  ear  for  soul- 
music.  It  is  your  misfortune,  Millhouse,  and  you  ought  to  be 
sorry  for  yourself,  not  angry  with  the  musician,  whose  songs 
you  can't  understand.  You  should  pray  for  the  proper  under 
standing,  and  work  for  it,  too ;  for  you  must  know  that  an  ear 
for  music  of  .all  sorts  is  to  be  acquired  ;  and  the  ear  opens  so  as 
to  correspond  with  the. growing  wishes  of  the  heart,  and  the 
growing  wisdom  of  the  mind.  You  hear  a  great  deal  said,  per 
haps,  of  education.  Everybody  seems  to  wish  for  education.  I 
have  heard  you  deploring,  very  frequently,  the  fact  that  you  had 
no  schooling.  Now,  schooling  and  education  are  meant  for  this 
very  purpose,  to  give  us  an  ear  for  music — the  music  of  birds  as 
well  as  men,  the  music  of  the  soul,  as  well  as  of  the  throat — 
music  which  fills  the  heart  as  well  as  the  ear  —  music  which  is 
not  only  sweet,  but  wise  —  which  not  only  pleases  but  makes 
good ;  for,  after  all,  the  great  secret  of  education  is  to  open  all 
the  ears  —  which  we  call  senses  —  of  a  man,  so  that  he  can  drink 
in  all  the  harmonies  of  that  world  of  music,  which  we  commonly 
call  life  !  —  Do  not,  my  dear  sergeant,  suppose  you  are  any  bet 
ter  because  you  do  not  comprehend  such  music  as  George  Den 
nison  makes ;  and  do  not  suppose  that  George  is  any  worse  man 
because  he  is  too  apt  to  give  away,  and  perhaps  waste,  the 
tilings  which  he  needs  himself,  quite  as  much  as  the  person  to 
whom  he  gives  them.  George  finds  it  profitable  to  give  away 
—  to  waste !  If  you  knew  the  satisfaction  which  he  feels  at 
making  other  people  happy,  you  might  be  even  more  extrava 
gant.  He  may  be  wrong,  sometimes,  in  his  giving ;  but  you  are 
not  altogether  right  in  judging  him  so  harshly.  He  values  cer 
tain  things  too  little ;  you,  perhaps,  value  the  same  things  too 
much.  You  both  may  be  forgiven  your  offences,  which  are  due 


PORGY'S  NOTIONS  OF  THE  USEFUL.  286 

to  a  want  of  proper  education,  provided  you  are  modest  enough 
never  to  censure  the  music  which  you  do  not  understand." 

Porgy  lighted  his  pipe  after  this  long  speech.  Millhouse 
scratched  his  head  and  looked  dubious  for  a  while ;  but  after  a 
brief  pause,  he  resumed  the  subject  in  this  fashion : — 

"  Well,  cappin,  all  that  may  be  very  wise  and  sensible,  though 
there's  some  of  it  I  don't  'zackly  onderstand;  but  I'm  willing  to 
let  it  pass  this  time.  But  supposing  all  you  say  of  George  Den- 
iiison  is  true,  and  I  reckon  there's  some  reason  in  it,  I'd  like  to 
know  what  sort  of  music  you  gits  out  of  Doctor  Oakenberg." 

"  Millhouse,  do  you  remember  a  little  Frenchman,  named 
Pelot,  that  joined  us  when  we  were  making  the  forced  march 
after  Gainey,  toward  the  Great  Pedee  ?" 

"  In  course  I  do." 

"  Well,  do  you  remember  a  reel  in  a  bottle  that  he  had,  that 
amused  half  the  soldiers,  and  was  too  much  for  all  of  them  to 
get  out  of  the  bottle  without  breaking  it." 

"  Yes,  I  tried  it  many  a  time  myself." 

"  You  knew  that  it  was  put  into  the  bottle  after  the  bottle  was 
made,  and  that  it  could  be  taken  out  in  the  same  manner." 

"  In  course." 

"  Well,  did  you  ever  hear  that  reel  sing,  or  speak,  while  m 
the  bottle  ?" 

"  Lord  love  you,  no  !     How  could  it  ?" 

"  Did  you  ever  see  it  come  out  of  the  bottle  and  dance  Y* 

"  Diccance  !  no  !" 

"  And  you  never  saw  it  hoe,  or  cut  wood,  or  kill  game,  or 
cook  food,  or  make  clothes,  or  fight  the  enemy,  or  do  anything 
which  you  consider  useful." 

"Never  !" 

"  Yet,  you  were  curious  about  it.  You  tried  many  a  time  to 
lind  out  the  secret.  It  employed  you  —  it  interested  you — it 
interested  most  cf  the  soldiers ;  yet,  in  itself,  it  was  perfectly 
worthless.  It  could  neither  sow  nor  spin,  it  could  not  even  grow 
—  it  was  of  no  sort  of  value  to  anybody  in  camp." 

"  That's  true,  cappin,  though  I  never  thought  about  it." 

"  Doctor  Oakenberg  is  my  reel  in  a  bottle.  His  soul  is  my 
puzzle;  how  it  got  into  his  carcass  —  where  it  does  nothing  use 
ful — where  it  does  not  even  grow — is  the  problem  which  ainusef 


586  WOODCRAFT. 

me.  Now,  Millhouse,  whatever  interests  a  mim  is  valual-lb. 
though  it  neitlier  works  nor  sings.  Whatever  may  amuse  a 
man  is  an  important  agent  in  his  education.  Whatever  exercises 
the  ingenuity  of  man,  though  it  be  a  fool's  brains,  or  a  reel  in  a 
bottle,  is  worthy  of  his  care  and  consideration.  I  assure  you 
that  should  George  Dennison,  or  Doctor  Oakenberg,  pay  me  a 
visit,  they  shall  both  be  welcome.  I  shall  find  use  in  both  of 
them." 

Millliouse  muttered  something  which  was  inaudible  closing 
with  — 

"  Well,  cappin,  cf  they  once  comes,  they  sticks.  You  will 
never  git  rid  of  them." 

"  Be  it  so  ;  the  more  helpless  they  are  the  more  they  pay  for 
the  shelter." 

"  How's  that,  when  they've  got  nothing." 

"  God  is  good  security  for  all  the  debts  of  the  poor!" 

Millhouse  h'dgetted  ;  Fordham  rose  to  depart.  Porgy  did 
not  rise,  but  extended  his  hand  from  the  fireside. 

"  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Fordham.  Sergeant" — in  a  whisper — 
(;  the  Jamaica." 

The  hint  was  taken,  and  the  two  overseers  hob-and-nobbed 
after  the  prescribed  fashion.  Our  captain  of  partisans  reminded 
Fordham  of  his  intention  to  visit  Mrs.  Eveleigh  next  day,  ac 
companied  by  his  subs,  and  sent  a  courteous  message  to  the  lady, 
to  that  effect.  When  Fordliain  withdrew,  Millliouse  accompa 
nied  him  into  the  piazza  and  down  the  steps,  to  his  horse,  which 
was  fastened  to  a  swinging  limb  in  front. 

"  You  hear  what  redick'lous  notions  the  cappin's  got  about 
these  here  things  ;  and  a  most  wasteful  man  would  he  be,  ef  there 
wa'n't  somebody  to  keep  a  tight  rein  over  hiinj"  and  he  made 
the  motion,  with  his  one  hand,  of  pulling  in  the  steed.  —  "I  does 
it  where  I  kin,  but  it  stands  to  reason  I  kaint  go  too  far,  seeing 
as  how  he  was  my  commanding  officer,  so  long.  But  I  gives  it 
to  him  pretty  plain,  and  right  for'ad  sometimes.  But  I  aint  the 
pusson  altogether  for  it.  In  fact,  Mr.  Fordham,  ef  anything's  to 
be  done  with  the  cappin,  it  must  be  by  a  woman  —  some  raal  lady 
that'll  take  his  case  in  hand,  and  guide  him  right  in  his  driving. 
Now,  he's  a  raal  good  man,  but  a  leetle  shy  of  the  womenkind. 
I'm  a-thinking,  though  its  strange  it  should  be,  seeing  how  long 


PORGY'S  NOTIONS  OF  THE  USEFUL.  287 

lie's  been  ;\  sodger.  that  he's  sort  o'  bashful.  Ef  he  could  git  a 
fine  woman  now  for  a  wife,  a  raal  lady,  I  reckon  it  would  he  a 
wonderful  good  thing  for  both  on  'em.  See  what  a  fine  planta 
tion  he's  got  here,  agoin'  to  ruin  headlong  in  his  hands  onless  I 
kin  save  it-- and  I'll  try  my  best,  —  but  I'd  be  sure  of  saving  him 
and  it  too,  ef  so  be  he  had  a  wife  to  back  me  in  the  business.  So 
long  as  he's  got  no  wife,  you  see,  he'll  be  run  down  by  these  idle 
rascals  of  the  army,  that  aint  fit  to  do  nothing  but  eat  double 
'lowance  of  grub,  and  swallow  any  quantity  of  Jamaica.  You 
hear  what  lie  says  of  this  fellow  Oakenberg,  who  is  a  sort  of 
yarb  doctor,  and  a  most  extremelous  fool,  —  and  this  George 
Deimison,  Avho  makes  jingling  stories,  —  that  keeps  a  sort  of  time 
with  every  now  and  then,  a  tink-it-a-tank,  tink-it-a-tank.  Well, 
these  chaps  never  works ;  they'll  come  here  and  eat  us  out  of 
house  and  home,  and  all  bekaise  the  cappin  haint  got  a  good 
sensible  woman  to  back  me  when  I  wants  her,  and  keep  the 
cappin  in  order.  You  see,  arter  all,  it's  a  good  woman  and  a  wife 
that  he  wants  to  make  all  things  right  ag'in  on  this  plantation." 

Fordham  admitted  the  wisdom  of  this  opinion. 

"  As  for  these  idle  fellows,  they  gits  no  incouragement  from 
me.  Ef  I  have  the  leetlest  chance,  I'll  send  both  on  'em  off, 
and  all  on  'em  that  comes,  with  a  flea  in  their  ears.  I  aint  gwine 
let  the  cappin  waste  himself  and  his  substance  upon  sich  wagrints. 
I'll  have  to  keep  a  strict  line  upon  him,  for  ef  he  once  gits  the 
bit  betwixt  his  teeth,  there's  no  stopping  him,  and  he'll  smash 
and  tear  everything  to  pieces.  'Taint  bekase  he's  naterally 
vicious,  but  so  long  as  he's  been  living  in  the  world,  he  aint  grown 
bridle  wise  ;  but  Lord  bless  you,  a  woman  could  manage  him  to 
prefection.  It's*  the  only  saving  of  him  and  this  fine  property, 
and  I'm  glad  you  'gree  with  me  about  it,  Mr.  Fordham." 

Fordham  shook  himself  free  with  difficulty.  The  sergeant 
had  many  last  words,  the  burden  of  which  invariably  led  to  the 
repetition  of  the  one  opinion,  that  a  wife  was  the  one  thing  need 
ful  to  the  wants  and  safety  of  his  superior. 


288  WOODCRAFT. 


CHAPTER   XL1I  , 

MFLLHOUSE    ON    THE    UTILITARIAN    PHILOSOPHY, 

"  C  APPIN,"  says  the  sergeant,  returning  to  the  hall,  where  I'oi 
gy  still  sat,  half  drowsing,  amidst  voluminous  wreaths  of  sinoko 
which  poured  from  his  pipe,  —  "Cappin,you  must  'jcuse  what  I'm 
guine  to  say  ef  I  speaks  to  you  mighty  free,  for  ^  ou  see,  I'm  your 
friend  to  sarve,  and  I  reckon  jest  about  as  good  a  friend  for  hon 
est,  upright  and  downright  sense  and  sarviee,  as  ever  you  had 
in  all  your  born  days.  I  don't  mean  to  say  that  I  love  you  bet 
ter  than  some  others,  —  say,  the  Ensign,  and  Tom,  the  cook,  but 
I'm  bold  to  determine,  that  I  love  you  more  sensible,  and  for 
sarving  and  helping  sarviee,  than  a'most  ccny  other  person,  let 
'em  be  as  wise  as  they  please.  That  being  the  case,  I  say  you 
must  'sense  me,  ef  I  make  free  to  put  you  right  in  the  way  you've 
got  to  go,  and  show  you  how  you've  got  to  put  your  foot  down 
for  the  rest  of  your  journey  in  this  life.  You  must  'sense  me,  1 
say,  ef  I  roughs  a  leetle  too  hard  sometimes  along  the  tender 
places." 

"  Excuse  you,  Millhouse  ?  oh  !  surely,  my  good  fellow.  You 
are  usually  so  very  modest  and  forbearing,  tender  and  scrupulous, 
that  you  may  well  be  permitted  a  little  occasional  roughness  in 
helping  a  friend  through  the  world." 

"  'Zackly,  cappin,  you're  right  ;  you  takes  tile  right  look  at 
the  thing  as  it  ought  to  be,  —  -sensible  as  I  wants  you." 

"  You  are  always  tender,  Millhouse,  even  in  dealing  with  your 
enemies.  I  remember  seeing  you  hew  a  fellow  half  in  two  with 
your  sabre,  then,  as  he  was  falling,  drive  the  iron  handle  into  his 
mouth,  breaking  every  tooth  in  his  head.  Certainly,  his  teeth 
would  only  be  a  mortification  to  him,  after  he  had  lost  all  capacity 
to  eat  ;  —  and  yet,  Millhouse,  I  should  like  to  be  buried  in  posses 
sion  of  a  good  mouthful  of  them.  Your  tenderness  in  my  case, 
is  of  a  like  fashion  always  ;  and  if,  as  a  good  surgeon,  you  should 
occasionally  be  compelled  to  be  a  little  rough  —  probing  wounds 


MILLHOUSE   ON   THE   UTILITARIAN   PHILOSOPHY.        289 

already  healed,  or  such  as  arc  absolutely  incurable,  in  order  to 
satisfy  yonrfself  that  there  are  some  sensibilities  yet  remaining  to 
the  patient — I  am  clearly  of  opinion  that  you  should  be  allowed 
the  privilege  of  doing  so,  if  only  that  the  humanities  of  your 
nature  should  be  kept  lively,  and  in  becoming  exercise." 

"Jest  so;  and  I  must  say  for  you,  cappin,  that  sometimes 
you're  quite  sensible,  and  have  a  good  onderstanding  of  what's 
right  and  proper  in  affairs  of  business.  Ef  you  didn't  so  much 
love  sich  company  as  George  Dennison  and  Oakenburg,  there's 
no  telling,  how  knowing  you'd  be ;  and  ef  you'd  only  shet  up, 
and  not  talk  about  things  no  common-sense  pusson  can  onder- 
stand,  it  would  be  a  great  deal  the  better  for  you.  Now,  you 
don't  think  that  this  good  fellow,  Fordham,  know'd  what  you 
meant  to  say  when  you  was  a-going  it  about  Dennison's  po'try, 
and  soul  music,  and  all  sich  fly-away  matters  1  I  could  onder- 
stand  it  all,  bekaise  I've  hearn  you  at  it,  day  and  night,  through 
out  the  campaigns. — But  how  was  he  to  1'arn  it?  You  migh 
jest  as  well  hev'  talked  it  to  the  man  in  the  moon.  And  what 
was  the  use  of  it,  ef  he  did  onderstand  ?  Why,  he  wouldn't 
valley  it  a  continental  d — n,  which  everybody  knows  won't  buy 
a  calabash  of  skim  milk.  Now,  as  you  don't  know  nothing  about 
farming,  or  rice-planting,  and  as  you  hevn't  any  sober  idee  about 
any  sort  of  business  except  fighting,  —  and  I  say  it,  myself,  you're 
prime  good  at  that — I'm  a-thinking  that  you'd  better  shet  up 
quite,  when  goin  it  in  company  with  men  of  business  like  Ford- 
ham  and  me,  and  jest  listen  to  what  we're  a  saying.  You'll  1'ani 
something  by  it,  I  tell  you." 

"Do  you  really  think  so,  sergeant1?" 

"  I  swow,  but  I  does.     It's  the  only  way  to  1'arn." 

"  It  looks  reasonable.  Leave  off  talking  myself  and  listen  to 
you  and  Fordham." 

"  Jest  so !  and  ef  there  was  any  other  sensible  white  man,  of 
business,  you  might  listen  to  him  too  ;  for  onderstand  me,  I'm  not 
pretending  that  Fordham  and  me  are  the  only  people  having  a 
right  sense  of  things  in  this  world.  —  There's  other  people,  I 
reckon,  that  have  learned  something  of  business ;  though  they're 
rather  scarce  in  these  pa/rts." 

"  It's  possible  !     Well.'' 

"  But  there's  a  time  when  you  rni^ht  open,  and  hev'  your  sav 

13 


290  WOODCRAFT. 

capjiui ;  that's  when  you  gits  among  people  who  lias  likings  like 
yourself;  young  fellows  who  aint  got  ixperence  in  the  world,— 
women  folks,  —  and  sich  like." 

"  You  think  I  may  venture  to  talk  among  the  women,  then  ?" 

"  Edzactly,  cappin  ;  women  are  weak  vessels  that  aint  expect 
ed  to  be  reasonable,  and  things  will  tickle  their  ears  that  are  only 
foolishness  in  the  ears  of  a  sensible  man.  They  will  listen  to 
sich  stuff  as.  po'try  and  music,  and  all  the  time  they're  a  losing 
the  profits.  They're  made  to  sing,  and  to  dance,  and  to  dress 
up,  and  make  themselves  sweet  to  please  the  men  when  the  day's 
M  oik's  over;  and  Lord,  cappin,  you  kaint  say  hardly  anything 
amiss,  in  the  way  of  wanity  and  foolishness,  ef  so  be  you  says 
it  lovingly,  and  with  a  sawt  of  fondness  in  your  eyes  all  the 
time.  Now,  I've  hearn  you  talk  to  women,  and  you  knows  pretty 
much  what  the  critters  loves  to  hear.  You  kin  talk  it  to  them, 
by  long  stretches,  and  make  it  smooth  travelling  all  the  way. 
It's  when  you  gits  among  them  that  I'm  willing  for  you  to  open." 

"  You  are  certainly  indulgent,  sergeant.  I  am  to  understand 
then,  that,  whenever  there  are  ladies  in  the  presence,  I  have  per 
mission  to  speak." 

"  I 'remission  aint  the  word,  cappin,  for  you  see,  you're  your 
own  master,  and  kin  speak  always,  whenever  you're  a  mind  to, 
IK;  matter  who's  in  company." 

"Oh!  Ah!" 

"  It's  jest,  you  see,  as  I'm  idvising  you,  for  your  own  good. 
'Taint  bekase  I've  got  any  power  to  shet  or  open  your  mouth, 
but  I  wants  you  to  sec,  for  your  own  self,  what's  best  for  your 
own  benefit.  You  see  your  ixperence  is  jest  none  at  all  in  the 
way  of  business.  You  don't  know  what's  useful  in  the  world. 
You  only  know  what's  pleasant,  and  amusing,  and  ridickilous, 
and  what  belongs  to  music,  and  poetry,  and  the  soul ;  and  not 
about  the  wisdom  that  makes  crops  grow,  and  drives  a  keen  bar 
gain,  and  swells  the  money-box,  and  keeps  the  kiver  down. 
Now,  I  reckon,  you'd  always  git  the  worst  of  it  at  a  horse-swap. 
You'd  be  cheated  with  a  blind  horse,  or  a  spavin'd,  and  you'd  go 
oft'  on  three  legs,  though  you  come  on  four.  Now,  ef  there's 
wisdom  in  this  world  —  that  is  raal  wisdom  —  it  is  in  making  a 
crop,  driving  a  bargain,  gifting  the  whip  hand  in  a  trade,  and  al 
ways  falling,  like  a  cat,  on  one's  legs.  As  for  music  and  po'try 


MILLHOUSE    ON    THE    UTILITARIAN   PHILOSOPHY.         29] 

and  them  things,  it's  all  flummery .  They  don't  make  the  pot 
bile.  I  likes  the  fiddle  when  there's  a  crowd,  and  after  the  day's 
work's  done,  and  the  horses  fed  ;  but  ef  there's  one  music  in  the 
world  that's  more  s\\reet  than  another  to  the  ears  of  a  man  of 
sense,  it's  the  music  that  keeps -tune  to  the  money  coming*  in 
I'm  minded  of  what  was  said 'by  a  man  up  on  the  Edisto,  not 
very  far  from  Orangeburg,  who  was  jest  about  the  most  sensible 
white  man  of  all  that  country.  He  was  one  time  at  a  sort  of 
ball,  or  party,  in  the  village,  and  there  was  a  lady  who  was 
playing  on  the  ha'psichord  and  singing,  and  she  said  to  him, 
'Squire,  does  you  love  music?'  then  he  up  and  said  —  'Music, 
ma'am  !  kaint  say  that  I  does,  'cept  one  kind.'  And  says  she, 
'What  kind's  that,  Squire  V  Says  he  — 'Ma'am,  that's  the 
music  of  my  mills  on  the  Edisto  ;  they  keeps  a  grinding  and  a 
sawing  night  and  day,  and  all  the  time  they  seems  to  be  a  singing 
in  my  ears  —  "Dollar!  dollar!  dollar,  oh!  dollar!  dollar!  dollar, 
oil  !':  That's  the  music  for  me,  ma'am  !'  and  sure  enough,  that 
was  what  I  call  useful,  business,  mercantile  music.  He  made  a 
foriin  by  it,  and  died  worth,  Lord  knows  how  much,  but  they  did 
say,  a'most  four  hundred  thousand  dollars  !  But  any  other  kind 
of  music  is  apt  to  draw  the  money  out ;  not  bring  it  in  ;  and  that's 
the  sin  of  it.  It  is,  I  say,  a  sinful  practice  that's  always  a  drean 
ing  the  pockets,  and  never  putting  anything  in." 

"  It  is  clear,  Millhouse,  that  you  have  studied  the  philosophy 
of  music  with  great  closeness.  You  are  evidently  well  prepared 
to  be  a  teacher.  You  counsel  me  to  speak  as  much  about  poetry 
and  music  to  the  ladies,  as  I  please,  but  to  avoid  it  Avholly  among 
men  of  sense,  unless,  indeed,  I  have  something  to  say  about  mer 
cantile  music." 

"  That's  it !  For,  look  you,  cappin,  jest  give  a  look  round  to 
the  world  — "  and  here  the  sergeant  rose,  and  stretched  his  one 
arm  out  with  measured  movement,  circling  the  hjill,  as  if  grasping 
the  poles  —  "  look  round  at  all  the  world,  and  wherever  you  look 
you  see  that  the  great  necdcessity  everywhere  is  the  gitting  of 
bread.  When  I  says,  gitting  of  bread,  I  means,  of  course,  gitting 
of  bread  and  meat,  and  drink,  clothes  to  wear,  and  the  tools  to 
work  with.  But  bread  and  meat  is  the  first  an-d  greatest  need- 
cessity  ;  for  without  it,  there  would  be  no  world,  nor  no  men,  noi 


292  wooDCii.vrr 

no  women.  Now,  then,  what  does  I  larn  from  that.  Jest  answer 
me  that." 

"  Well,  sergeant,  what  you  would  learn  from  it,  it  might  be 
difficult  for  me  to  say;  you  have  studied  the  subject  so  profound 
ly  that  it  is  not  easy  to  follow  you." 

"Well,  cappin,  it  ought  to  be  cl'ar  to  you,  but  I'll  show  you. 
I  larn  from  all  that  that  the  great  business  of  men  on  this  airth 
i-;  eating  —  that  is  to  say,  eating  and  drinking,  and  clothing  — 
fighting  agin  starvation  and  thirst  and  cold  weather." 

"  It  is  certainly  a  business  that  is  done  pretty  extensively  — 
universally  I  suppose,  since  I  have  never  known  a  man  or  wo 
man  refuse  to  oat  at  proper  hours." 

"  And  onproper  hours  too,  and  at  all  hours,  cappin  ;  that  is  ef 
they  hev'  it.  And  the  business  of  life  is  to  hev'  it.  Now,  ef  that 
be  the  great  business  of  life,  it  stands  to  reason  that  them  ocky- 
pations  what  don't  bring  in  bread  and  meat  and  drink,  or  the 
money  to  buy  it,  is  treasonable,  ^natural,  and  ^respectable 
ockypations.  Aint  it  cl'ar  to  you  so?" 

"  I'm  afraid,  sergeant,  if  1  make  any  farther  admissions  you'll 
be  for  knocking  George  Dennison  on  the  head." 

"  Accordin'  to  the  argyment,  he  and  Oakenberg,  and  all  of 
them  worthless  sawt  of  people,  that  only  makes  music  and  not 
bread,  ought  to  be  knock'd  on  the  head ;  as  Scriptur  says  of  the 
tree  that  don't  bring  fruit,  'hew  it  down  and  cast  it  into  the  fire.' 
Well,  the  laws  of  the  land  don't  follow  out  the  laws  of  God. 
Ef  we  was  to  cut  down  them  idle  fellows  that  sing  and  make 
varses  when  they  ought  to  be  at  the  plough  tail,  we'd  be  hung 
a'most  without  jt'dge  or  jury,  jest  as  ef  we'd  been  doing  agin 
the  laws  of  Scriptur,  instead  of  following  them  out  rightly.  The 
men  that  makes  the  laws  of  man,  cappin,  I'm  jubous,  are  mighty 
poor  followers  of  the  laws  of  God.  Ef  they  wasn't,  we'd  git  rid 
of  a  mighty  gre^t  deal  of  rubbish." 

"  Well,  but,  sergeant,  when  a  man  has  earned  all  the  bread 
and  meat,  and  drink,  and  clothing,  that  he  needs,  is  he  to  be 
satisfied  ?" 

"  Satisfied  !  no  !  He's  to  work  on,  and  on,  and  what  he's  got 
over  and  above  his  wants,  he's  to  send  to  market  and  sell,  and 
git  all  the  money  f>r  it  he  kin." 

"  Ah  !   well.  —  what  is  he  to  do  with  that  money?" 


MILLHOUSR    ON    THE    UTILITARIAN    PHILOSOPHY.          293 

"Why,  increase  his  force,  ana  his  land,  to  be  sure." 

"Why,  that  will  only  increase  his  money!" 

"  To  be  sure  ;  and  that's  what  he's  to  aim  at.  He's  to  go  on 
gttting,  and  gitting,  and  gitting,  to  the  end  of  the  season,  ontill 
Death  gits  him.  As  lie  gits,  lie  kin  increase  his  comforts  —  git 
better  bread,  more  meat,  pass  from  apple  and  peach  brandy  to 
old  Jamaica  —  ef  he  likes  it,  git  wine,  —  though  I  never  seed  the 
wine  yef,  that  could  shine  the  same  day  in  the  face  of  good  Ja 
maica  : —  git  better  clothing;  hev'  his  horse  to  ride;  prehaps  his 
carriage,  and  jist  make  himself  a  sort  of  king,  in  the  way  of 
comforts." 

"  Well,  these  got,  —  should  he  spend  his  money  on  nothing 
else?" 

"  Nothing,  that  I  kin  see.  He's  got  all  that's  needful.  Then 
he's  for  gitting  as  good  bargains  as  he  kin  —  then  he's  for  gitting 
to  be  a  ruler  ef  he  kin  —  gitting  to  be  a  colonel  or  a  gineral  in 
the  militia ;  gitting  to  be  a  representative  and  a  senator  in  the 
legislatur ;  gitting  to  be  a  Justus  of  the  peace ;  gitting  to  be  a 
sawt  of  king  over  the  people,  and  making  them  all  feel  that  he's 
got  the  money  to  buy  and  sell  'em,  every  mother's  son  of  'em, 
ef  he  pleases." 

"  Well,  that  must  be  a  very  delightful  sensation.  But  would 
you  not  use  some  of  this  money  for  charity  —  would  you  not  give 
Oakenberg  his  living,  if  only  to  catch  snakes  and  make  a  col 
lection  ?  Would  you  not  help  Dennison  to  his  dinner  ?" 

"  Not  a  copper  on  your  singing  birds  and  idlers.  They  should 
starve  for  me.  Not  a  fellow  that  wouldn't  work  would  I  feed." 

"  But,  Millhouse,  you  would  do  something  for  religion,  wouldn't 
you  ?" 

"  Why,  to  be  sure.  It's  expected  of  a  rich  man  that  he'll  go 
rigilar  to  church  and  set  a  good  example,  and  help  pay  for  the 
preacher,  and  put  something  every  month  in  the  charity  box, 
and  be  decent  and  rigilar,  jist  that  lie  mayn't  lose  by  it,  sence 
people  respects  religion,  and  it  might  be  onprofitable,  and  hurt 
ful  to  one's  business,  ef  he  didn't  make  good  signs  that  people 
should  see.  To  be  sure,  I  go  for  religion  that's  right,  and  every 
right  religion's  bound  to  uphold  the  man  who  is  rich  and  helps 
to  pay  ixpenses." 

"  You  have  admirably  grasped  the  whole  subject  of  profitable 


294  WOODCRAFT. 

duty,  sergeant.  I  should  not  have  answered  exactly  as  you 
have  done,  on  the  subject  of  charity  and  religion ;  but  I  have  no 
doubt  that  you  have  answered  as  correctly  and  fully  us  the  most 
profound  utilitarian  philosophers  would  have  done.  And  now, 
what  say  you  to  a  little  Jamaica  ?  It's  a  part  of  your  system  to 
drink  as  well  as  eat." 

"  It's  the  needful,  cappin." 

The  Jamaica  and  water  were  brought  by  Pompey,  and  when 
their  cups  were  filled,  quoth  Porgy  — 

"  Well,  Millhouse,  considering  the  lesson  you've  been  giving 
me,  suppose  we  drink  to  the  man  who  is  wise  enough  to  open  his 
mouth  only  in  the  proper  company." 

"  That's  it,  cappin ;  jist  you  mind  what  I've  been  telling  you, 
and  you'll  work  upward  yit  into  cl'ar  water.  You're  opick  to 
1'arn,  I  see  ;  and  only  you  give  up  this  foolish  po'try  and  soul 
music,  'cept  when  you're  among  the  women  —  and  listen  with 
good  will  to  what  men  of  business  and  sense  is  a  telling  you,  and 
there's  no  saying  how  sensible  you'll  grow  in  time.  Here's  your 
health  —  and  the  Lord  presarve  you,  cappin,  and  git  you  into  a 
strong  position  agin  the  approaches  of  the  sheriff." 


CHAPTER   XLIII. 

MILLHOUSE    THEATETH    TOUGHLY    OF    THE    TENDER    GENDER. 

SUDDENLY  the  barking  of  a  dog  was  heard  without. 

"  It's  a  dog  !"  quoth  Millhouse.  "  Some  nigger  dog,  I  reckon. 
I'll  kill  every  nigger  dog  I  see  on  the  place.  You  hear  that, 
Tom  !  you  hear  Pomp  !  'member  it,  boys.  I  don't  'low  nigger 
dogs  on  any  place  Avhere  I'm  manager.  I  knows  what  s  the 
natur  of  a  nigger  dog,  cappin,  and  what  they're  kept  for/' 

"  But,  won't  that  be  rather  hard,  sergeant  1  a  negro  likes  coon 
and  possum.  Ask  Tom  there  about  possum." 

"  Possum  better  than  pig,  maussa." 

"  We  almost  learned  to  think  so  ourselves,  sergeant,  in  the 
army.  How  often  should  we  have  gone  without  meat  but  from 
dogs  bringing  in  c/>on  and  possum." 


MTLLHOUSE    AND    TFIK    TKN!>i:i;    O'KNDER.  %2% 

"All  coon  dogs,  on  this  place,  cappin,  must  be  owned  by  a 
white  man  ;  by  you,  by  rne,  or  by  the  lieutenant.  A  nigger  dog 
is  a  hog-dog  by  nater  ;  and  where  the  nigger  eats  one  possum, 
he  eats  five  pigs.  It's  the  infarmity  of  a  nigger's  dog  and  a 
nigger  too,  that  a  fat  pig  makes  his  eyes  rim  water.  No  nigger 
dog  here,  cappin,  onless  you  says  so." 

"  But,  sergeant,  even  if  it  he,  as  you  say,  that  a  negro  dog  is 
always  a  hog  dog,  and  I'm  perfectly  prepared  to  believe  the  as 
sertion,  still  there  would  be  no  harm  in  having  such  an  animal  at 
Glen-Eberley,  since  it  will  be  wonderful  if  a  solitary  pig  is  to  be 
found  on  the  premises." 

There  was  no  gainsaying  this  humiliating  fact,  and  it  took  the 
sergeant  all  aback  for  a  moment,  but  only  for  a  moment.  He 
was  a  man  of  resources  and  prompt  reply. 

"  But  they'll  come,  cappin  ;  pigs  will  hev'  to  come  !  You'll 
her'  to  git  half  a  dozen  brood  sows  with  your  first  money,  and 
begin  to  stock  the  plantation." 

"  Well,  corporal,  wont  it  be  quite  time  enough  then  to  get  rid 
of  the  dogs  ?" 

"  It's  a  shorter  way  not  to  let  'em  begin  to  harbor  here.  Lay 
down  the  law  at  the  beginning.  That's  my  way  wherever  I 
manages,  and  then  there's  no  mistake." 

The  barking  of  the  dog  now  became  more  audible  without,  the 
sounds  alternating  with  sundry  lively  blasts  of  a  bugle. 

"  It's  Lance  Frampton,"  said  the  captain  ;  and  the  tread  of 
horse's  hoofs  succeeded  to  the  words.  In  a  few  moments  the 
young  lieutenant  entered  the  apartment,  accompanied  by  a  good- 
looking  dog  of  a  somewhat  mongrel  aspect,  a  sort  of  cross  of 
wolf,  cur,  and  beagle  —  which  shrunk  back  timidly  toward  the 
entrance,  on  finding  himself  confronted  with  so  many  strange 
faces  —  or,  he  might  possibly  have  seen  something  in  the  looks 
of  the  sergeant  to  inspire  him  with  a  proper  caution. 

"  Where  did  you  get  your  dog,  Lance  ?" 

"  From  Mrs.  Griffin,  captain.  She  had  two  and  only  wants 
one,  and  she  tells  me  this  is  a  famous  fine  coon  dog,  which  is  no 
use  to  her  as  she  can't  hunt,  so  she  gave  it  to  me.  We  'want 
fresh  meat,  captain,  and  I'm  for  a  hunt  this  very  night,  if  I  can 
get  some  of  the  boys  to  go." 

Pomp,  who  was  in  attendance,  began  to  grow  fidgety. 


296  WOODCRAFT. 

"  There's  a  volunteer  already,"  quoth  Porgy,  pointing  tt 
Pomp  ;  "he  has  shifted  his  carcass  from  one  leg  to  the  other  a 
dozen  times  since  the  dog  made  his  appearance.  Do  yon  want 
to  take  a  coon  to-night,  Pomp  ]" 

"  T'ank  you,  maussa,  I  berry  happy,  ef  you  please." 

"  To  be  sure,  old  fellow.  I'm  quite  pleased  if  yor  can  make 
yourself  happy  by  the  performance." 

"  I  guine  too,"  exclaimed  Tom,  the  cook,  who  had  just  at  that 
moment  thrust  his  oily  face  into  the  apartment.  "  I  too  hungry 
arter  coon.  I  usen  to  been  know  all  'bout  de  coon  and  possum 
quarters  on  dis  place  ;  and  I  tell  you,  ef  dere's  anybody  yer  wid 
sense  to  find  de  fattest  warmints  yer  he  am  !  —  me,  Tom." 

"  They'll  all  go  ef  you  let  'em,"  growled  the  sergeant, 
"  They'll  hunt  all  night  and  won't  be  worth  a  cuss  to  work  to 
morrow.  Look  you,  Tom,  don't  carry  off  all  the  hands  with 
you ;  let  'em  sleep.  You  and  Pomp  are  quite  enough,  or  you 
may  take  one  other  fellow  with  you.  Three  on  you  ought  to 
empty  the  woods  of  all  the  possums  in  'em." 

"  I  yeddy  [sometimes  yerry,  otherwise  '  hear  you'j  mass  Mill- 
h'us,"  answered  Tom  impatiently,  and  by  no  means  seeming  to 
relish  the  voice  of  authority  from  that  quarter :  "  Tom  know 
berry  well  wha'  for  do  in  he  maussa  business.  Coon  and  possum 
mus'  be  ketch  in  de  time  when  der's  no  fresh  meat  for  de  pot. — 
So  !  —  Pomp  !  — :  Look  at  me,  boy  ! " 

'*  I  da  look,  uncle  Tom,"  said  Pomp  reverently. 

"  Tom  berry  quick  for  march,  boy,  but  you  hab  for  lam  some 
ting  fuss.'  You  bin  in  camp  ebber,  you'd  ha'  been  larn  at  de 
rope's  eend.  Tek'  dat  bucket,  boy,  and  run  to  de  spring  and 
git  de  water.  Spose  maussa  want  for  drink  when  you  gone  and 
der's  no  water  ?  Spose  gemplemans,  ossifers  and  ginerals,  hap 
pen  for  come  in  when  you  gone  and  maussa  hab  for  ax  em  to 
swallow  de  raw  rum  —  enty  you'll  feel  mean  'nough  when  you 
yer  'bout  it !  Git  de  water,  boy ;  'tir  [stir]  you'  stumps,  and 
help  Peter  git  de  lightwood.  Der  mus'  be  coon  fight  to-night, 
ef  dem  tory  rascal  aint  eat  de  country  out." 

This  was  said  pretty  much  in  such  an  aside  to  Pomp  as  the 
stage  tolerates.  Meanwhile,  Frampton  was  making  his  report 
to  the  captain,  of  his  day's  visit,  and  of  certain  friendly  messages 
of  Mrs.  Gniiia  and  daughter,  in  response  to  those  with  which 


MILLHOUSE   AND   THE   TENDER   GENDEB.  297 

Porgy  had  commissioned  his  lieutenant.  The  former  appeared 
to  take  quite  an  interest  ii  these  particulars ;  a  circumstance 
that  seemed  to  produce  some  uneasiness  in  the  sergeant.  After 
a  while  he  interposed  with  — 

"  You're  making  a  mighty  long  story  of  it,  lieutenant,  and  I'm 
a-thinking  you're  a  burning  daylight.  Ef  you  are  to  hunt  the 
coons,  the  sooner  you're  off  the  better  —  the  sooner  you'll  be 
back,  and  the  niggers  git  their  sleep  and  be  ready  for  a  good 
day's  work  to-morrow." 

Frampton  quietly  took  the  counsel,  whistled  his  dog  down  the 
steps  of  the  piazza  into  the  court  where  Tom  was  already  busied 
in  hewing  lightwood  for  the  necessary  torches.  So  soon  as  he 
had  disappeared,  Porgy  said  — 

"  Why,  what  the  d — 1  sort  of  work  can  you  put  the  negroes  at 
to-morrow,  Millhouse  1  What's  to  be  done  ?" 

"  A  hundred  things ;  rails  to  be  split ;  fences  to  be  made ; 
poles  to  be  got  out  for  nigger  houses ;  land  to  be  broke  up  for 
planting ;  ditches  to  be  cut ;  banks  ^paired  ;  —  there's  no  saying 
how  much  is  to  be  done  !" 

"  But  where  are  the  tools,  my  good  fellow,  the  hoes,  shovels, 
axes,  ploughs " 

"  Don't  you  mind,  cappin.  I'm  overseer,  aint  1 1  Well,  I've 
seed  to  all  that.  Onder  the  piazza  is  all  them  spades,  and  shov 
els  we've  been  a  using  to-day ;  and  Mr.  Fordham  told  me,  with 
out  my  axing,  that  he  could  spare  me  a  few  ploughs  and  axes, 
and  other  little  matters,  ontill  you  could  lay  in  supplies  in  town. 
He  sa;d  'twas  the  orders  of  Madam  Eb'leigh  that  I  should 
liev'  'em." 

"  Mrs.  Eveleigh  is  certainly  as  provident  as  she  is  liberal  L" 
remarked  the  captain. 

"  And  it's  them  very  vartues,  cappin,  that  you're  a-wnnting 
•  ere.  to  make  the  pot  bile,  and  to  see  that  it  don't  bile  over.  Ef 
you'll  keep  your  eyes  right,  cappin,  you  won't  let  the  chaince 
.dip  of  getting  yourself  into  good  quarters.  It's  cPar  to  me  that 
Mrs.  Eb'leigh's  giving  you  the  right  sort  of  signs,  and  you'll  be 
IK  blindest  sawt  of  a  sarcurnstance  of  a.  white  man,  ef  you  don't 
uike  the  right  motion  from  what  she  shows.  A  nod's  as  good  as 
a  wink  to  a  blind  horse,  and  the  man  that  wants  more  than  the 
pull  of  a  sleeve,  from  a  fine  woman,  to  understand  what  slit 

13* 


298  WOODCRAFT. 

wants,  why  I'm  a  thinking  lie  aint  the  valley  of  a  dea  I  dog  with 
three  buzzards  pulling  different  ways  at  his  earkiss.  I'm  con 
siderate  of  you,  eappin,  and  your  sarcumstances,  and  I'm  cl'ar  to 
say  that  the  charitablest  thing  you  kin  do,  when  you  sec  how 
the  cat  wants  to  jump,  is  jest  to  open  the  windows  and  give  her 
a  cl'ar  track.  Don't  you  be  waiting  upon  Providence  tell  some 
wiser  man  walks  in  and  takes  the  fat  turkey  off  the  nest.  I'd 
be  at  her,  bright  and  airly,  to-morrow,  and  I  wouldn't  wait  a 
week,  ef  she's  willing,  before  I  brought  her  home  to  your  own 
roost." 

"You're  quick  on  trigger,  sergeant.  Does  it  not  sometimes 
occur  to  you  that  you're  a  very  rapid  man  ?" 

"  I  reckon  'tis  bekaise  I  was  born  in  a  hurry.  I  came  into 
the  world  in  a  hurry,  and  never  waited  for  the  midwife.  I 
grow'd  up  in  a  hurry,  and  in  all  sawts  of  wickedness.  I  reckon 
no  person  ever  1'arned  his  vices  so  quick  as  me.  I  never  seemed 
to  want  book  or  teacher.  Lord  love  you,  I  charged  into  'em, 
jist  as  I  charged  among  the  inimy's  baggage,  and  held  on  to  'cm 
as  loving  as  if  they  was  so  many  army  stores,  with  the  money 
chist  in  the  middle.  If  I  had  any  vartues,  they  come  slower, 
but  I  was  pretty  fast  with  them  too ;  and  fast  motion  is  a  vartue 
by  itself,  when  you've  got  to  do  with  man  or  woman,  friend  or 
inimy.  For,  what's  the  truth,  eappin  1  Lord  love  you,  there 
aint  much  time  'lowed  to  a  man  in  this  life.  What  he's  got  to 
do,  he's  got  to  do  in  a  hurry,  ef  it's  to  be  done  at  all.  Ef  lie 
pokes  and  saunters,  grim  Death  gobbles  him  up  afore  he  gits  to 
the  eend  of  his  journey.  Well,  this  courtin'  of  a  woman  is  jist 
the  sawt  of  business  that  calls  for  fast  usage.  It's  a  sawt  of  race 
where  the  hindmost  wins  nothing  but  loses.  You  kaint  stop  to 
look  behind  you.  You  must  go  ahead,  jist  as  if  the  d — 1  had 
you  on  an  eend,  and  you  had  no  chaince  to  git  on  and  off,  but  by 
bolting  like  a  mad  bull,  even  though  you  should  lose  your  skairtr- 
in  the  run.  And  a  woman  of  ixperance  likes  a  man  the  better 
if  he  gives  her  no  time  for  long  thinking.  Courtin'  is  like  storm 
ing  an  inimy's  batteries.  Women  expects  naterally  to  be  taken 
by  storm.  They  likes  a  good  ixcuse  for  surrenderin'.  You  must 
go  it  with  a  rush,  sword  in  hand,  looking  mighty  fierce,  and 
ready  to  smite  and  tear  everything  to  splinters;  and  jist  then 
she  drops  into  your  arms  and  stops  the  massacre  by  an  honest 


MILLHOUSE  AND  THE  TENDER  GENDER.       299 

givi.u'  iii.  '  You're  loo  strong  for  me,  I  see,'  says  she,  when  she 
surrenders  — '  130'  she  goes  on,  'only  spare  my  life  and  take 
every  tiling  I've  got ;'  and  she  gives  herself  in  into  the  bargain  ; 
-  —  what  we  sodgers  calls  a  surrinder  at  discretion.  But  you 
must,  jest  filiow  her  that  you  are  determined  to  conquer;  that 
you  kain't  be  marciful :  that  you  must  hev'  everything  or  lose, 
everything;  and  that  your  name's  'master'  from  the  beginning." 

"  Really,  sergeant,  you  must  have  enjoyed  a  wonderful  expe 
rience  among  the  sex." 

"  It's  hard  to  say  what  I  hevn't  seed  in  my  tim^,  among  all 
sorts  of  people ;  an'  it's  hard  to  say  where  my  ixperance  eends 
in  dealing  with  people  —  man  and  woman.  I'm  showing  you, 
cappin,  by  the  teachin'  I'm  a-giving  you." 

"  You  are  a  sage,  grave  counsellor,  Millhouse,  and  I  am  bound 
to  suppose  —  being  myself  inexperienced,  particularly  among 
women  —  that  you  counsel  wisely.  But  have  yOTu  only  a  single 
rule  for  your  operations  ?  Is  it  possible  that  you  recognise  no 
difference  among  women,  and  that  you  use  the  same  policy  with 
all?" 

"  Lord  love  you,  no  !  In  course,  you're  to  tmderstand  that 
man  is  the  born  master ;  but  every  master  knows  that  you  man 
age  hands  differently,  each  one  accordin'  to  his  natur.  But  wo 
man  is  born  with  a  knowing  that  some  day  she's  got  to  find  a 
master.  That  makes  her  ready  for  him  when  he  comes.  But  it 
skears  some,  them  in  perticklar  that  haint  got  no  ixperence. 
With  a  woman  of  ixperence,  storming's  the  way;  —  and  a  fort, 
you  know,  that's  been  once  stormed  knows  all  about  it,  and  kin 
be  easily  stormed  agin.  But  the  fort  that's  never  been  taken,  is 
to  be  managed  different.  You  don't  let  sich  a  fort  see  all  your 
strength  at  once.  You  don't  show  all  your  sodgers  in  front.  You 
manoeuvres,  and  inarches  and  countermarches.  You  don't  let  the 
garrison  see  where  you're  guine  to  make  the  attack.  You  ap 
proaches  cautious,  cappin,  and  you  works  by  sap.  But  I  needn't 
tell  you  of  what's  needful  in  works  of  war.  I  only  mean  to  show 
by  a  sawt  of  picter  which  you  onderstand,  how  you're  to  work 
with  women.  The  young  gal  you  captures  by  insinivations,  but 
the  widow  Eb'leigh's  no  young  gal.  She's  had  ixperence  of 
things  ;  and  you're  to  conquer  her  jest  by  storming  and  'scalade, 
Put  on  your  biggest  thunder  now,  cappin,  and  go  to  the  attack 


300  WOODCRAFT. 

with  a  shout  and  a  rush,  and  dang  my  peepers  ef  she  don't  sur 
render  at  the  first  summons." 

"  Certainly,  you  hold  forth  a  very  encouraging  prospect.  But, 
sergeant,  marriage  is  a  very  serious  business.  To  a  man  who  lias 
been  free  all  his  life,  has  had  nobody  j;o  restrain  his  conduct,  out 
goings  and  incomings,  there  is  something  positively  frightful  in 
the  kind  of  bondage  which  it  makes.  It  sometimes  happens  that 
instead  of  the  woman  getting  a  master,  the  man  gets  ;\  mis 
tress.  There's  a  great  part  of  this  in  most  marriages.  To  recon 
cile  one  to  the  danger,  I  suppose,  the  passion  of  love  was  in 
vented " 

"  Love !  Oh  !  Lord,  don't  talk  of  sich  child's  play  as  that,  I 
beg  you  !  Marriage  is  business  ;  'taint  love.  It's  airnest  work  ; 
'taint  sport !  Nobody,  I  reckon,  marries  for  the  sport  of  the 
thing,  ef  he's  once  cut  his  eye-teeth.  Your  boy  and  gal  marriages 
is  a  sort  of  baby  house  business.  When  we  talks  to  grown  men 
and  women  about  the  thing,  we  means  an  argyment,  and  a  reason, 
and  a  sense,  and  a  needcessity.  You  aint  surely  guine  to  tell  me 
of  likes  and  dislikes  in  the  business.  Nobody  ixpects  you  at 
your  time  o'  life,  to  have  any  sich  child  feeling  of  love,  sich  as 
works  upon  infant  young  fellows,  that's  just  begun  to  1'arn  the 
run  of  the  woods." 

"  But  I  confess,  sergeant,  if  I  am  to  marry,  I  should  like  to 
consult  my  tastes  in  the  matter.  I  confess  that  I  believe  myself 
not  a  bit  too  old  to  have  an  affection." 

"  'Fections  mustn't  stand  in  the  way  of  business.  How's  the 
case  ?  You're  bad  off  in  plantation  ,9<7^cumstances.  You  want 
everything,  and  kaint,  by  your  own  self,  keep  what  you've  got. 
Well,  jest  beside  you  there  stands  a  rich  widow.  Site's  well  off 
in  plantation  sarcumstances.  She  kin  save  everything  for  you. 
Isn't  the  case  cl'ar  enough  to  a  person  with  only  h<\fe  an  onder- 
standing." 

"  Still,  I  am  for  having  a  certain  feeling  satisfied  —  call  it.  taste, 
or  affection,  love  or  what  you  will,  sergeant,  if  I'm  to  marry  and 
.  lose  my  liberty,  I  must  know  that  my  jailor  is  a  lovely  one." 

"Oh!  Lord,  cappin,  don't  be  foolish  and  ridickilons.  I've  no 
patience  with  such  etarnal  throat-cutting  sentiments.  Don't  you 
resk  the  best  chance  in  the  country  on  sich  foolish  idees.  What 
right  hev'  you,  at  youi  time  of  day,  and  in  your  sarcumstances 


MILL1IOUSE    AND    THE   TENDER   CENDER.  301 

to  talk  about  sich  boy  and  gal  sentiments.  Here  you're  at  forty- 
five,  with  your  head  gitting  as  grey  as  ef  'twas  rolled  over  in  a 
meal  bag;  —  with  your  body  all  of  a  heap  in  the  middle,  and  the 
pins  mighty  slender  for  sich  a  weight  to  go  upon  ;  and  your  sar- 
cumstances  all  in  a  kink,  and  knotted  upon  with  the  ringers  of 
that  ctarn.il  wannint,  the  sheriff;  —  and  yet  you're  a-talking  of 
love,  and  sentiments,  and  defections,  jest  as  ef  you  knowd  no 
more  of  human  natur  than  a  lad  of  seventeen,  who's  jest  begin 
ning  to  spread  sail  for  a  breeze.  I  kaint  let  you  talk  sich  foolish 
idees,  cappin  !  'Twont  do,  I  tell  you.  I  wont  hev'  it !  You 
shan't  throw  away  the  good  fortin',  jest  as  it's  a- tumbling,  ripe 
into  your  mouth,  ef  I  kin  help  it.  'Twoulcl  be  a  sort  of  right 
that  your  friends  would  have  to  give  you  a  good  choking  first." 

"Ah  !"  said  Porgy,  drily,  —  "such  friendship  as  you  describe 
is  somewhat  rare,  sergeant." 

44  As  I'm  a  living  man,  cappin,  I'd  be  the  man  to  do  the  thing 
ef  'twas  for  your  good  and  to  save  you  ;  and  I'd  do  it  jest  as  free 
and  bold  as  your  own  self  when  you  surgined  my  arm  to  the 
saving  of  my  life  —  I  would!" 

"  Thank  you,  sergeant,  thank  you !  I  acknowledge  the  pecu 
liar  frankness  of  your  friendship,  but  trust  never  to  make  it  ne 
cessary  for  my  friends  to  choke  me,  in  order  to  make  me  take 
my  medicine." 

"  Fruit,  not  physic,  cappin." 

"  Well,  fruit !  —  But  suppose  there  are  other  fruits  that  I  hap 
pen  to  like  better  than  that  which  you  offer  me.  Suppose,  to 
speak  more  to  the  point,  there  should  happen  to  be  another  wo 
man  whom  I  happen  to  like  better  than  Mrs.  Eveleigh  ?" 

"  Ha  !  is  it  that  ?  Well,  the  only  thing  to  ax  —  is  the  other 
woman  in  the  same  sarcumstances  as  Mrs.  Eb'leigh,  —  ready  and 
able  to  help  you  out  of  the  halter  of  the  sheriff]" 

"  Don't  name  the  animal  quite  so  often,  sergeant,  if  you  please." 

"Well,  I  wont;  but  I  ax  agin  —  is  the  other  woman  as  well 
off  as  the  widow  Eb'leigh  1  Has  she  as  many  goulden  guineas, 
as  many  niggers  ?  — " 

"  Not  a  stiver  that  I  know  of —  not  the  hair  of  a  negro." 

"  Can't  be,  cappin,  you're  thinking  of  the  widow  Griffin  1"  ex- 
c'aimed  the  sergeant,  rising  to  his  feet  and  confronting  Porgy 
with  a  lonk  of  blank  astonishment — " 


302  TOODCRAFT. 

"  Griffin  is  a  prettier  woman  than  Mrs.  Evcleigh.  ' 
"  Diccance !'  cappin  !  what  liev'  you  got  to  do  with  purty  wo 
men.    What's  a  purty  woman  to  a  man  in  your  sarcumstances  ?" 

"  Why,  Millhouse,  do  you  suppose,  because  a  man  Avants  money, 
he  must  also  want,  good  taste." 

"  Taste  ! — that's  another  of  them  foolish  idees  !  I  thought  I 
had  given  you  a  right  notion  of  all  sich  things.  A  man  what's 
poor  and  in  danger  of  the  sheriff  has  no  right  to  hev'  a  taste." 

"But  suppose  he  can't  help  it,  sergeant  —  suppose  he  has  the 
faste  whether  he  wills  or  no  ?" 

'  Then  the  Lord  have  marcy  on  his  sarcumstances.  But,  cap- 
pin,  you  kaint  afford  to  hev'  a  taste  for  the  widow  Griffin.  She's 
a  mighty  comely  woman,  I  confess ;  but  comely  in  a  woman  is 
as  comely  brings.  It's  not  what  a  woman  looks,  but  what  she 
owns,  that  makes  the  comely ;  and  you  kaint  afford  to  encourage 
her  ixpectations,  cf  she's  got  any.  Your  business  is  with  widow 
Eb'leigh,  and  you  kaint  git  over  the  needcessity  afore  you,  try 
it  as  you  may.  It's  a  law  of  natur,  in  your  sarcumstances,  that 
you  marries  her,  and  nobody  else  !'' 

Porgy  was  silent,  looking  thoughtfully  into  the  fire,  his  pipe 
hanging  over  his  knee,  forgotten  in  his  grasp.  Millhouse  rose,  at 
the  close  of  the  last  speech,  in  which  he  had  uttered  his  decree 
as  emphatically  as  if  it  had  been  that  of  the  Medea  and  Persians, 
and  motioned  with  his  one  arm  to  the  Jamaica. 

"  Aint  you  thirsty,  cappin  ]" 

"  No,  sergeant,  but  I  am  sure  that  you  are  very  dry.  Helji 
yourself,  and  don't  wait  on  me." 

'*  It's  a  bad  sign  when  a  travelling  horse  won't  drink,  cappin." 

'  True,  sergeant,  tut  though  one  man  may  carry  a  horse  to 
water,  ten  can't  make  him  drink,  when  he's  not  willing." 

"  Why.  Lord,  love  you  cappin,  there  oughtn't  to  be  any  great 
on  willingness  for  you  to  marry  the  widow  Eb'leigh.  She's  got 
a  mighty  sweet  face." 

«  True." 
And  a  mighty  plump  figure." 

"  True." 

'And  the  whitest  skin,  cl'ar  red  and  white;  and  sich  a  soft 
blue  eye,  and  sich  sweet  lips,  so  red  and  ripe  like;"  and  the 
Bcvgonnt  swnllowod  half  the  contcn-ts  of  the  cup,  and  smacked 


MILLHOUSE   AND    THE    TENDER   <JEtfDER.  303 

bis  lips  as  heartily  as  if  in  the  actual  encounter  with  those  of  the 
widow. 

"  And  she's  young  for  her  age,  and  with  sicli  a  nice,  full  figgcr; 
not  a  bit  too  stout,  not  over  fat,  but  jest  right.  Why,  cappin,  ef 
taste,  as  you  call  it,  was  to  decide,  and  the  taste  was  a  downright 
honest,  good  sodger  taste,  why  it  would  choose  the  widow  Eb'leigh 
a  thousand  times  before  the  widow  Griffin." 

"  I  will  drink,  sergeant,"  said  Porgy,  rising  and  approaching 
the  barrel,  on  the  head  of  which  the  water  jug,  the  Jamaica  and 
the  cup,  found  a  temporary  asylum.  He  filled,  and  when  about 
to  drink,  he  said  : 

"  You  are  a  philosopher,  sergeant,  such  as  the  world  every 
where  respects.  But  though  your  philosophy  succeeds  pretty 
generally,  in  the  world,  you  never  would." 

"  En'  why  not,  cappin  ]" 

"  Because  the  chief  secret  of  the  success  of  such  a  philosophy 
as  yours  is  that  it  never  vaunteth  itself.  It's  professors  never 
publish  their  virtues  as  you  do.  They  are  content  to  practise  in 
secret  what  you  mistakenly  praise.  They  do  what  you  Breach, 
and  preach  against  what  they  themselves  do.  Pride  thus  dis- 
courseth  of  humility  with  moist  lips ;  selfishness  thus  becomes 
eloquent  in  its  exhortations  to  self-sacrifice ;  and  the  good  preacher 
will  possess  himself  of  the  fattest  ewe  lamb  of  the  flock  while 
insisting  on  the  beauties  of  a  perpetual  lent.  But  what  say  you 
to  bed  ?  It  will  be  some  hours,  I  fancy,  before  the  lieutenant 
and  the  boys  get  back  from  their  coon  hunt,  and  we  may  enjoy 
a  good  sleep  meanwhile.  We  must  also  rise  soon  in  the  morning, 
that  we  may  see  what  we  arc  to  wear  to-morrow.  There  must 
be  some  patching  of  my  garments,  before  I  shall  be  able  perfect 
ly  to  appear  at  the  widow's  table  ;  and  you  too,  in  all  probability, 
will  need  some  adhesive  plasters,  front  and  rear." 

"  I'm  glad  you're  a-thinking  of  that,  cappin.  You  must  put  on 
your  best  front,  and  put  your  best  foot  for'ad,  for,  jest  hev'  what 
tastes  and  idees  you  think  proper,  you  kaint  git  off  from  marry 
ing  that  widow." 


304  WOODCRAFT. 


CHAPTER   XLIV. 

TUB  GHOST  AT  GLE\-EBERLEY  EMBRACES  THE  SERGEANT 

vi  et  armis. 

WHEN  Porgy  had  retired,  Millhouse  mixed  for  himself  anothei 
cup  of  Jamaica,  with  water,  laid  it  down  before  the  fire,  drew  a 
blanket  up  to  the  hearth,  squatted  upon  it,  pulled  off  his  shoes, 
and  exposed  his  naked  feet  to  the  blaze,  He  replenished  his 
pipe,  drew  a  keg  near  his  back,  leaned  against  it  with  the  air  of 
a  man  who  was  about  to  enjoy  life  philosophically,  and,  with  a 
few  vigorous  puffs,  encircled  his  head  with  a  becoming  atmo 
sphere  of  cloud  and  vapor.  With  the  momentary  removal  of 
the  pipe  from  his  jaws,  he  moistened  his  lips  with  the  Jamaica. 
He  again  dried  them  with  a  puff,  and  again  moistened  them  with 
the  provided  beverage.  The  philosophic  mood  thus  properly 
stimulated,  he  began,  sotlo  roce,  to  soliloquize  upon  affairs  and 
tilings  around  him,  his  reflections  prompted  by  the  conviction 
that  he  had  been  gratefully  opening  the  eyes  of  his  superior  to 
truths  and  a  wisdom  which  the  other  was  slow  to  arrive  at. 

"  He's  down  in  the  mouth  !  He  aint  in  good  sperrits.  It's  a 
needcessity  to  make  him  see  how  the  matter  stands,  and  what 
he's  got  to  do  in  his  /?mlicaments.  Well,  to  say  truth,  for  a  wise 
man,  and  a  smart  man,  and  a  man  what's  seen  sarvice,  the  cap- 
pin  is  jest  about  as  foolish  as  a  young  person  of  sixteen.  And 
it's  mighty  strange  at  his  age,  he  should  be  so  bashful.  Here, 
it's  cPar  to  every  man  what's  got  an  eye  to  anything,  that  this 
here  rich  widow  is  ready  with  the  bridal  garments.  She's  to  be 
had  for  the  axing.  I  watched  her  mighty  close  when  they  war 
a-talking  together,  and  ef  ever  a  woman's  eye  said, 'Look  at  me 
I'm  at  your  sarvice,  stranger,'  her  eye  said  that  same  thing  to 
he  cappin.  Yet,  for  all  that,  his  cussed  bashful  ness  won't  see 
and  believe  it.  But  he  shan't  want  for  the  incouragings  to  mnke 
him  come  up  to  the  rack  and  taste  the  fodder.  It's  good  fodder 


THE  GHOST  AT  GLEN-EBKKLEY.  305 

well-cured  fodder,  and  a  plentiful  armful  of  it  too  ;  and  there's 
good  corn  where  the  fodder  comes  from,  and  he  .shall  crack  that 
corn,  ef  he's  got  a  tooth  in  his  head,  and  ef  he  haint,  I'll  hev'  it 
ground  fdfr  him.  But  eat  it  he  sh/11 !  Don't  I  see  the  woman 
likes  him  to  kill.  And  he  aint  an  onlikely  pusson  in  any  wo 
man's  sight.  Ef  'twarn  for  his  almighty  gairth,  he'd  be  a  figure 
to  go  through  an  army  of  women,  and  take  his  pick  as  he  went. 
I'll  take  a  hand  at  gitting  her  to-morrow,  and  I'll  see  that  Tom 
takes  in  his  belt  a  few  holes  closer.  He  must  be  made  to  look 
his  best.  Ef  he  had  some  new  clothes  now !  His  old  buffs  are 
mighty  full  of  stains.  'Twont  do  to  wash  buff  breeches  in 
swamp  water  no  how,  and  to  dust  'em  with  swamp  mud  hurts 
their  complexion  more  than  the  water.  But  with  good  brushing 
we  kin  make  'em  pass.  A -most  everything  in  the  way  of  clothes 
will  pass  where  a  woman's  eye's  already  quite  full  of  the  pusson 
himself." 

Putting  the  pipe  into  his  mouth,  he  drew  it,  fiercely,  and  send 
forth  several  enormous  jets  of  smoke,  which  kept  up  the  due  phil 
osophic  consistency  in  the  atmosphere,  then  taking  another  sup 
of  the  Jamaica  in  order  to  maintain  his  own. mental  consistency, 
he  proceeded,  still  in  under-tones,  to  soliloquize  in  respect  to  his 
superior. 

"  Talk  of  Mrs.  Griffin  !  What  kin  Mrs.  Griffin  do  for  him  'I 
What  kin  he  do  for  Mrs.  Griffin?  Why  it's  jest  the  same  as  ef 
we  tied  both  of  'em  in  a  poke  together,  and  gin  em  to  the  sheriff 
to  sell  at  public  cry  !  And  who'd  buy  1  The  price  they'd  bring 
wouldn't  pay  for  the  cost  of  selling.  The  woman\  good  looking 
enough  —  mighty  good  looking  I'd  say,  and  jest  the  sort  of  wo 
man  to  suit  me,  ef  there  was  any  sense  in  my  marrying  at 
all.  Whether  I'd  be  wanting  a  wife  would  a-most  altogether 
depend  on  the  sort  of  eencome  I  could  git  out  of  it.  She's  got 
a  small  place,  nice  farm  enough,  a  good  comfortable  house 
upon  it,  with  a  horse  and  a  cow,  and  a  few  pigs  and  chickens  ; 
and  ef  there  was  nobody  but  her  one,  —  why  it  might  be  no 
bad  sence  for  me  to  be  'greeable  and  take  her ;  but  there's  her 
marriageable  da'ter,  guine  to  be  married  too,  to  the  Lieutenant, 
and  leetle  enough  there'll  be  for  the  three  to  feed  on.  'Twont 
do  !  a  sensible  marriage,  for  a  man,  means  the  bettering  of  his 
ttjmunstances,  and  there's  no  bettering  in  sich^-*i  business. 


806  WOODCRAFT. 

When  ono  marrios,  it's  the  sarcumstances  that  he's  got,  to  consider 
and  not  tho  woman  that  hangs  on  to  'em.  It's  neither  for  me 
nor  the  cappin  to  think  of  the  widow  Griffin,  though  of  it's  to 
be  done  by  either  on  us,  why  it's  for  me  to  do  it.  It's  ffie  t'other 
woman's  sarcumstances  that  he's  got  to  consider,  and  he'll  hev' 
to  come  to  the  scratch  whether  he  wants  to  or  no." 

A  renewed  puffing  at  the  pipe  was  followed  by  another  sip 
of  the  Jamaica,  and  the  utilitarian  philosopher  proceeded,  still 
sotto  race,  to  consider  "  the  sarcumstances." 

"Everything  'pends  on  what  he  does  and  says  to-morrow. 
I'll  be  thar,  and  I'll  push  him  for'ad.  I'll  make  the  chance  for 
him  and  the  argyment  too,  ef  so  be  I  sees  him  playing  shilly 
shally.  It's  mighty  fortinit  for  the  cappin  that  she  axed  me  to 
go  too.  I  reckon  she  seed  for  herself,  that  I  know'd  something 
that  aint  to  be  larned  in  books,  and  it's  fortinit  for  the  cappin 
that  I'm  his  friend,  that  aint  guine  to  see  him  lose  a  good  game 
without  telling  him  when  it's  the  right  time  to  fling  doAvn  trumps  ! 
I  must  put  the  lieutenant  up  to  help  me,  and  Tom  kin  throw 
in  a  word,  seasonable,  to  strengthen  the  argyment.  And  may  I 
be  etarnally  squashed  under  a  mountain  of  swamp,  fenced  in 
with  alligators,  ef  we  don't  git  possession  of  that  widow  and  all 
she's  got." 

Another  succession  of  fierce  puffs  at  the  pipe,  and  then  a  re 
newed  moistening^)  f  the  lips  with  the  Jamaica.  The  soliloquy 
was  then  resumed:  — 

"  She's  got  more  than  a  hundred  niggers,  I  reckon.  That's 
Tom's  thinking.  She  aint  got  no  debts  to  pay,  and  aint  afeared 
of  no  sheriff.  She  must  divide  them  niggers  betwixt  the  two 
places,  hale  here  and  hafe  there  ;  and  then  we'll  see  which  makes 
the  best  crops,  Fordham  or  me  !  Fordham's  a  good  enough  chap 
I'm  a-thinking ;  but  he  aint  had  the  benefit  of  seeing  the  world 
in  the  army.  I  made  good  rice,  I  reckon,  'fore  ever  Fordham 
seed  backwater.  When  a  man  lives  always  in  one  place  he 
he  don't  know  much  and  kaint  Tarn  nothing.  I'll  show  him  the 
good  of  army  life  for  bringing  sense  into  a  family.  As  for  the 
drill  among  the  niggers,  I  reckon  I'll  make  him  open  his  eyes 
wider  than  ever  any  tarrapin  lying  on  the  flat  of  his  back,  and 
the  water  biling  fast  for  him  to  thicken.  Ef  I  don't  beat  him  at 
a  crap,  then  my  daddy  had  no  right  to  his  own  son  !" 


THE  GHOST  AT  C.LEN-EBERLEY  807 

The  sergeant  continued  to  muse  ami  speculate,  for  two  goodly 
hours  after  his  worldly  fashion.  Porgy's  chamber  was  silent. 
He  probably  slept.  So  thought  Millhouse.  Frampton  was  still 
absent  on  his  coon  and  possum  hunt;  on  which  enterprise  he  had 
been  accompanied  by  Tom,  Pomp,  and  several  other  negroes, 
all  eager  to  procure  a  supply  of  fresh  meat,  and  to  renew  sports 
which  always  brought  them  pleasure.  It  might  be  hours  still 
before  they  would  return,  since  it  requires,  sometimes,  a  large 
circuit  of  woodland  and  swamp  before  the  dog  scents  his  prey. 
Millhouse,  in  the  meantime,  had  ceased  to  soliloquize.  He  had 
been  kept  wakeful  a  long  time,  in  consequence  of  the  singulai 
variety  and  activity  of  his  scheming  fancies;  but  he  was  begin 
ning  to  succumb  to  drowsiness.  He  had  emptied  his  pipe  of  its 
ashes,  swallowed  the  last  drop  of  the  Jamaica,  and  pushing  away 
the  keg  from  his  back,  prepared  to  roll  himself  up  in  his  blankets, 
when  he  fancied  he  heard  a  footfall  in  the  back  piazza.  In  half 
listless  mood  he  listened.  The  step  ceased,  and  he  drowsed. 
Then  he  was  awakened  by  what  he  thought  a  rustling  against 
the  door.  He  raised  himself  up,  threw  a  brand  on  the  fire, 
which  was  beginning  to  sink,  and  saw  it  kindle  and  blaze  up 
brightly.  Remembering  the  robbery  of  the  previous  night,  he 
kept  his  eyes  keenly  fixed  upon  the  door.  He  was  afraid  to 
rise  for  his  pistols,  which  lay  in  the  opposite  corner,  lest  he  should 
frighten  off'  the  intruder,  and  he  was  too  anxious  to  get  at  him 
to  suffer  this,  if  possible.  He  resolved,  accordingly,  to  wait  till 
the  last  moment.  All  on  a  sudden,  while  he  looked  and  listened, 
the  door  was  pushed  open,  and  a  tall  female  figure  stood  before 
him  in  the  dusky  opening.  There  was  evidently  female  drapery 
—  that  he  could  distinguish  —  but  all  else  was  undiscernable 
He  remembered,  for  the  first  time,  that  the  captain  had  told  him. 
the  night  previous,  that  the  house  was  haunted ;  and  the  thought 
now  seized  him  that  this  was  the  ghost.  The  sergeant  was  brave 
enough,  as  the  world  goes,  but  he  could  not  prevent  a  strange 
uncomfortable  shudder  from  passing  through  him.  He  did  not 
will  to  believe  in  ghosts,  but  what  else  could  be  the  intruder  ? 

"Who's  it?"  he  cried  out,  after  a  pause,  in  accents  somewhat 
less  confident  and  formidable  than  those  in  which  he  had  dis 
coursed  to  Porgy  of  the  proper  philosophy. 

"Who's  thai*  ?"  he  demanded  ;  and  the  stranger  advanced  into 


308  WOODCRAFT. 

the  room,  —  a  tall,  slender  form  in  a  sort  of  loose,  dingy  white 
garment,  the  draping  of  which  seemed  somewhat  to  confine  its 
movements.  It  happened,  vexatiously  enough,  that  the  fire 
upon  the  hearth,  which  had  blazed  up  brightly  enough  but  a 
moment  before,  seemed  almost  to  expire  ;  a  circumstance  so  aptly 
associated  with  the  presence  of  the  stranger  as  somewhat  to  con 
firm  the  fancy  of  the  sergeant  that  she  was  certainly  the  house 
hold  ghost.  He  remembered,  in  an  instant,  what  he  had  heard 
in  his  young  days  of  the  lights  burning  dimly  and  blue,  in  the 
presence  of  the  spectre,  and  he  could  conceive  of  no  less  influence 
which  could  so  effectually,  and  in  an  instant,  deprive  '  fat  light- 
wood'  of  its  proper  inflammable  virtues.  He  began  to  feel 
more  and  more  disquieted,  while  the  silence  of  the  intruder 
added  to  his  doubts.  Again  he  cried  out,  this  time  raising 
his  head,  if  not  his  voice,  —  and  speaking  with  prodigious  effort  — 

"Who's  it,  thar,  I  say?" 

The  answer  dispelled  his  apprehensions  immediately, 

"Da  you,  rny  chile?" 

The  voice  was  that  of  a  negro  as  well  as  a  female. 

"  Who's  afraid  of  a  nigger  ghost !"  exclaimed  the  sergeant  aloud 
—  and  rising  to  a  sitting  posture. 

"  Who's  you !  I  say  !  and  what  hev'  you  come  for." 

"It's  me,  my  chile!  It's  you  own  ole  woman  —  Sappho! 
Enty  you  member  de  ole  woman  —  you  own  nuss,  —  de  same 
Sappho  wha'  bin  mind  you  a  t'ousand  times.  De  Lawd  be  praise 
for  bring  you  back — dat  de  ole  woman  kin  hug  he  chile  once 
more,  fore  he  dead  for  ebber." 

With  these  words  the  speaker  darted  forward,  and,  falling 
upon  her  knees  upon  the  blankets  of  the  sergeant,  seized  him 
in  her  firm  embrace,  and  before  he  could  recover  from  his  sur 
prise,  and  extricate  himself,  hugged  him  closely  to  her  bosom, 
and  bestowed  upon  his  cheeks,  a  flood  of  kisses  from  a  toothless 
mouth  ! 

"  Git  out !  Oh !  thunder — Oh ! — Hello !  I  say !  What  the 
splinters  are  you  after!  Whoo !  D !" 

Thus,  half  suffocated  for  a  moment,  the  sergeant  vented  his 
horror  and  surprise.  He  struggled  fiercely,  with  his  one  arm, 
to  push  her  away ;  but  she  had  him  at  great  advantage.  He 
«vas  in  a  sitting  posture,  swathed  half  in  blankets;  and, kneeling 


THE  GHOST  AT  GLEN-EBEULEY.  309 

beside  him,  the  ghost  had  grappled  him  about  the  neck,  and  in 
the  ardor  of  her  kisses  had  almost  succeeded  in  pressing  him 
over  upon  the  floor. 

"  My  own  chile !"  she  sobbed  ever  as  she  kissed. 

"  But  I  aint !  Git  out,  I  say !  Lord,  old  woman,  who  the 

h-1  kin  you  be,  and  what's  you  after !  Child  be  d d  !  Me  a 

child!" 

"  My  belubbed  infant !  I  hab  you  in  my  arms  agin,  'fore  I 
dead  !  De  Lawd  be  praise  !" 

"Infant,  be !" 

"  Oh,  my  chile  !" 

"  Child  !  you  old  fool !   What's  you  thinking  about !" 

"  Dat  old  Sappho  should  ebber  lib  for  see  dis  day  !  I  kin  dead 
happy  now ;  the  Lawd  be  praise  !" 

"  Dead  !  I  wish  you  was,  and  the  old  d — 1  had  you  !" 

"  My  chile  — my  bes'  belubbed  son  !"  and  she  blubbered  aloud. 

"'D — n  my  splinters,  old  woman,  ef  I  don't  be  the  death  of  you 
for  sartain.  I'll  knock  you  into  the  leetle  eend  of  a  sarcumstance 
ef  you  don't  let  go." 

"  It's  you  own  ole  Sappho,  my  chile  !  You  no  know  you  own 
lijss;  you  own  good  ole  woman,  old  Sappho,  my  son!  Wha' 
you  push  me  'way  for  ?  I  bin  nuss  you  in  dese  arms  a  t'ousand 
times,  and  -I  lub  you  better  clan  all  de  worl'.  Don't  push  me 
'way  !  —  I  lub  you  too  much  for  leff  you ;  I  wunt  le'  you  go  !" 

"  We'll  see  that !  Lord  !  that  I  should  live  to  be  squeezed  to 
death  by  a  nigger,  and  suffickafed  in  the  arms  of  a  raw-head  and 
bloody  bones  like  this  !  You  old  scout  of  satan,  you — I'll !" 

The  sergeant,  swearing,  and  almost  shouting  in  his  rage,  at 
length  succeeded  in  extricating  himself  from  the  blankets  ;  then, 
throwing  off  the  loving  intruder  who  had  evidently  mistaken  her 
man,  he  managed  to  gain  his  feet,  and  to  stand  erect,  with  his 
one  arm  extended,  the  fist  being  now  doubled  until  it  wore  the 
appearance  of  an  awful  maul,  such  as  the  rail  splitter  employs 
m  driving  home  his  wedges.  The  strange  woman,  singularly 
named  after  the  tender-hearted  wanton  who  flung  herself  away 
for  love  of  the  phlegmatic  Phaon,  had  by  this  time  arisen  also ; 
and,  recoiling  from  the  person  she  had  so  closely  grappled  but  a 
moment  before,  she  stood  some  five  paces  off,  curiously  regarding 
him,  now  satisfied  of  her  error,  and  quite  as  much  confounded  as 


310  WOODCRAFT. 

he  was  wrothy.  It  was  at  this  moment,  when  the  sergeant,  fully 
persuaded  that,  if  a  ghost,  th^  person  before  him  was  sufficiently 
substantial  to  feel  the  force  of  arguments  such  as  it  was  in  his 
power  to  deliver  from  his  knuckles,  was  preparing  to  fall  npor 
the  intruder,  tooth  and  nail,  that  the  captain  of  partisans,  aroused 
by  the  voices  and  the  struggle,  made  his  appearance  in  his  night- 
clothes,  but  with  a  blanket  over  his  shoulders,  and  interposed  be 
tween  the  parties. 

"  Who's  this,  Millhouse  ?     What's  the  matter  ]" 

Before  the  sergeant  could  answer,  the  woman  pushed  beside 
him  with  a  cry. 

"  Dis  dab  him  !  Dis  dah  my  own  chile  !"  and  with  sobs  of  joy 
she  threw  her  arms  about  the  neck  of  Porgy  as  she  had  done 
about  that  of  Millhouse. 

"  Why,  hello  !  my  good  woman  !  Who  do  you  take  me  for  ? 
You  are  quite  too  free  in  your  affections." 

Porgy  endeavored  to  extricate  himself,  but  the  effort  was  as 
difficult  in  his  case  as  in  that  of  Millhouse.  Millhouse  witnessed 
the  effort,  and  chuckled  outright. 

"  It's  your  turn  now,  cappin,  and  your  right  by  nater !" 

"  My  chile  !  my  chile  !  You  no  know  you  mudder  miss, — you 
own  Sappho,  wha'  bin  min'  you  when  you  bin  leetle  baby,  only 
big  like  my  ban'." 

"  Sappho  !"  cried  Porgy,  — "  what  Sappho,  is  it  you,  my  poor 
old  mauma  ! — my  good  old  woman!" 

"  Dah  him  !      Dah  me  !  my  chile  !  my  chile  !" 

"And  a  pretty  sizeable 'sarcumstance  of  a  child  he  is!"  cried 
the  sergeant,  laughing  at  the  spectacle. 

"  There,  Sappho,  my  good  old  woman,  that  will  do  now,"  said 
Porgy  —  "come  into  my  room  and  let  us  sit  down  where  I  can 
hear  you." 

"  Da's  it,  my  son  !  Oh  !  how  I  wants  for  tell  you  ebbry  ting 
what's  pass  and  gone;"  and  clinging  to  his  arm  the  old  woman 
accompanied  the  captain  to  his  chamber. 

"  I'll  bring  you  some  lightwood,  cappin,"  quoth  the  sergeant. 
44  you'll  be  wanting  to  see,  I  reckon,  the  sawt  of  pusson  you're 
a-talking  to." 

The  lightwood  was  brought,  the  fire  soon  put  into  a  blaze,  and 
beating  himself  on  one  corner  of  his  blankets,  the  captain,  with 


THE   GHOST   AT   GLEN-EBERLEY.  311 

some  difficulty,  persuaded  the  old  woman  to  deposite  herself  on 
another.  The  sergeant  with  his  blanket  wrapped  about  his 
shoulders,  took  his  stand  beside  the  mantlepiece,  his  stump-arm 
resting  upon  it,  while  he  looked  curiously  ^pon  the  group,  and 
listened  with  interest  to  what  was  said.  The  spectacle  was,  in 
deed,  a  sufficiently  curious  one. 

Porgy,  as  we  already  know,  is  somewhat  of  a  spectacle  him 
self,  particularly  with  a  toilet  incomplete.  But  his  companion, 
now,  is  one  in  admirable  contrast  with  himself.  She  was  very 
tall  and  thin  —  a  mere  skeleton,  in  fact  —  her  garments  loose  and 
light,  rather  hanging  about  than  fastened  to  her  person.  She  was 
about  seventy-five  years  old,  or  more.  The  successive  wrinkles 
of  her  face,  drooping  together  at  last,  hung  about  her  cheeks 
and  chin,  like  a  once  well  filled,  but  long  emptied  purse.  Her 
teeth  were  entirely  gone ;  the  lips,  unusually  thin,  finding  no 
resistance  upon  pressure,  had  sunk  in,  making  a  deep  valley 
across  the  face,  the  nose  on  one  hand  and  the  chin  on  the  other, 
both  prominent  and  sharp,  rising  up  like  peaks  of  Teneriffe.  The 
scant  hairs  which  thinly  covered  her  head,  and  escaped  beneath 
the  old  handkerchief  which  wrapped  it,  were  gray  as  the  moss 
upon  the  old  oak,  and  not  much  unlike  it  in  texture  and  curl. 
But  her  eyes  were  as  bright,  sliming  out  in  the  general  black 
ness,  as  two  fiery  little  stars,  preparing  for  battle.  They  were 
small  and  deeply  set,  but  as  intense  in  their  gaze  as  if  the  pro 
prietor  were  fifteen  only.  Toothless  wholly,  the  old  woman  was 
not  tongueless.  The  tongue,  indeed,  seemed  to  find  it  necessary 
to  do  double  duty  in  consequence  of  the  deficiency  of  the  teeth; 
and  eager,  yet  mumbling  the  words  the  while,  the  ancient  wo 
man  ran  on,  all  the  while,  with  little  or  no  pause,  ejaculating  hr.i 
thanks  to  heaven  which  had  vouchsafed  that  she  should  see  "  her 
chile  agin  !" 

"  But  you  no  know  me,  my  chile.  You  bin  fo'git  old  Sappho  ! 
Enty  I  know.  You  kaint  tell  me.  Hah  !  das  de  way  wid  de 
world.  You  back  tu'n,  you  gone,  you  in  de  ground,  de  berry 
chile  you  bin  carry  in  you'  arms,  he  fo'git  all  'bout  you !" 

"  But  I  didn't  forget  you,  mauma !  As  soon  as  I  saw  you 
fairly,  I  knew  you ;  and  I  only  wonder  I  didn't  know  you  Dy 
your  voice." 

"  It's  de  teet',  my  chile  !     De  tect'  gone  !     De  old  snag  drop 


312  WOODCllAFT. 

Out5 — de  berry  las'  ob  'em  drop  out  de  beginning  ob  dis  winter. 
Nary  one  [never  a  one]  left  now  for  me  chaw  'pon.  Ah  I  de  ole 
woman  is  a-gwinc  fas',  my  chile.  It's  de  preticklar  blessing  ob  de 
Lawd  dat  I  leff  fo^see  you  git  back  to  you'  own  home  and  people. 
De  Lawd  be  praise  for  all  he  mussies ! " 

"Well,  mauma,  I'm  truly  happy  to  see  you  once  more  alive.  It 
reminds  me  so  much  of  everything  —  of  my  mother — of  the  old 
wagon  —  of  the  little  bay  ponies,  and  the  rides  we  had  together 
down  to  uncle  Dick's.  Why,  how  could  you  think,  Sappho,  that 
I  should  ever  forget  you  ?  " 

"It's  de  way  ob  de  worl',  my  chile!  an'  I  was  afear'd  dat  when 
you  git  out  in  de  worl'  fair,  an'  see  de  people,  an'  git  mix  up  wid 
de  sodgcrs,  you  would  shame  for  'tink  'bout  poor  ole  woman,  da's 
a  nigger,  too." 

"  Never,  Sappho !  I  have  thought  of  you  a  thousand  times,  and 
I'm  more  glad  to  see  you  now,  still  living,  and  still  able  to  sec  and 
to  speak,  than  I  should  be  at  meeting  with  the  best  white  friend 
I  have.  But,  Sappho,  you  must  tell  me  about  everything.  I  want 
to  know  how  you  escaped  in  the  general  sack  and  confusion. 
When  I  sent  Tom  out  here  once  to  see  how  things  went  on,  he 
could  find  nothing  of  you,  and  hear  nothing.  He  only  gathered 
that  the  British  and  tories  had  been  here,  had  gutted  the  planta 
tion  and  carried  off  all  the  people.  You  were  believed  to  be  dead, 
Sappho,  and  though  not  much  given  to  weeping,  I  shed  some 
tears  for  you,  mauma.  You  may  believe  me,  old  woman,  for  I  re 
membered  you  not  only  for  yourself,  but  for  others  who  were  very 
precious  to  me." 

"  Enty  I  blieb's  you,  my  chile.  It  do  de  ole  woman  heart  good 
to  blieb  you.  I  knows  you  got  a  good  heart,  yourse'f,  my  chile, 
and  dough,  I  knows,  you  lub  much  better  to  laugh  dan  to  cry,  I 
knows  too  you  kin  cry  when  dar's  'casion  for  it.  But,  yerry  [hear 
ye]  my  chile.  I  gwine  tell  you  all  about  wha'  happen  sence  you 
bin  gone." 

And  the  old  woman  smoothed  her  garments  in  front,  laid  her 
hands  crosswise  on  her  lap,  then  beginning  a  regular  swinging 
or  see-saw  motion  of  the  body,  to  and  fro,  proceeded  with  a  long 
and  somewhat  tedious,  but  clear  and  intelligible  account  -of  plan 
tation  affairs  up  to  the  moment  when  the  negroes  were  dispersed 
or  carried  off  by  the  enemy.  We  will  not  afflict  the  reader  with 


THK    (iliUSr    AT    (JLKX-KBKKLEY.  313 

this  narration.  But  preserve  only  such  portions  of  it  as  particu 
larly  arrested  the  attention  of  Sergeant  Millhouse.  As  he  stands 
somewhat  in  the  relation  of  a  third  party,  it  is  possible  that  what 
impressed  his  regards,  will  not  be  unworthy  of  the  attention  of 
other  persons,  the  more  particularly,  indeed,  as  the  matter  was 
of  some  importance  to  the  pecuniary  affairs  of  Captain  Porgy. 

"  Soon  as  I  'yerry,  my  chile,  dat  de  red  coats  bin  'pon  Gillon 
place,  an'  bin  carry  off  de  people,  dat  berry  time  I  scare.  Den 
I  say  to  meself — wha'  for  homier  'em  come  yer,  an'  carry  off 
we  people  too  1  Je's  I  bin  link  dat  ting,  I  begin  gedder  [gather] 
up  for  de  swamp.  Pot,  kettle,  pan;  I  tie  'em  up  in  de  blanket. 
I  say  to  Caesar — boy,  clap  'em  on  you  back;  den  I  say  to 
Cha'lot,  my  biggest  da'ter  ;  —  he  marry  Cromanty  Ben,  my  chile, 
you  'member  —  " 

"Yes!  yes!" 

"  Well,  I  say  to  him,  pick  up  you  tings.  Do  like  you  see  me 
do.  I  tell  de  same  ting  to  Betty,  my  second  da'ter.  He  bin 
marry  Eli,  you  'member." 

"  Yes  !  yes  !" 

"  lie  hab  he  four  chillcn  [children]  tree  gal  chile  an'  one  boy  ; 
Cha'lot  only  hab  two  chillen ;  he  loss  two  wid  'flection  ob  de 
bowels;  —  well,  I  say  to  Betty,  pick  up  you  chillen  and  tings, 
chile,  we  hab  for  hide,  I  see.  An'  I  make  him  go  right  off  to 
he  husban'  wha'  bin  a-work  down  in  de  big  pine  ficl',  and  tell 
'em  for  drop  he  hoe,  and  pull  foot  dis  way.  My  t'ird  da'tor, 
Dinda  [Lucinda],  you  'member,  I  'tir  him  up  too  and  make  'em 
gedder  up  he  chillen.  ITo  hub  tree,  but  he  husband  dead  dis 
two  year.  Den  we  tell  Hulsto  Jenny,  and  seal'  arm  Sally,  and 
leetle  Jupe  —  de  boy  wha'  hab  de  bow  leg,  you  'member,  and 
he  two  sister — -all  ob  'cm  hab  bow  leg — we  tell  'em  wha's  de 
trouble  corning  —  an'  we  would  ha'  bin  tell  all  our  people,  but, 
you  see,  day  [they]  was  scatter,  .some  in  de  cowpen  fid',  some 
in  de  long  tater  [potato]  fiel',  wha' jine  'pon  Miss  Ebleigh  ;  some 
one  way,  some  tuclder  [t'other]  an'  dere's  [there's]  no  time  for 
loss,  an'  we  kaint  see  dem.  So  we  people  start  by  our  own  se'f 
[selves],  me,  an'  my  tree  da'ters,  Cha'lot,  and  Betty,  and  Cind.iv 
wid  my  gran'  chillen,  Liz  and  Mart'a,  Cha'lot  chile ;  an'  Bob, 
an'  Rachel,  an'  Clough,  Betty  chillen ;  an'  Scip,  an'  Andra,  an' 

14 


314  WOODCRAFT. 

Harry,  Cinda  chillen  ;  dem's  all  my  ginerations  wha'  I  bin  carry 
in  de  swamp ;  but  Cromanty  Ben,  Clia'lot'  husban',  an'  Eli, 
Betty  husban'  —  day  gone  wid  us  too,  and  four  udder  women, 
Edisto  Jenny,  an'  seal'  arm  Sally,  an'  Sukey  and  Pussy,  sfsteiv.n 
of  Jupe  —  and  Jupe  liese'f — all  ob  dern  wid  de  bow  legs — all 
ob  dern  gone  wid  us  —  an'  dem's  all  the  ginerations  ob  de  chilhui 
ob  Adam,  my  cliile,  dat  git  off  wid  us  in  de  swamp,  when  wo 
yerry  de  red  coats  is  a-coming.  An'  we  carry  ebbiy  ting  we 
kin  lay  hands  'pon,  an'  carry  'em  safe  an'  easy  —  de  pot  an'  de 
pan,  an'  de  blanket,  an'  de  clo'es,  an'  de  axe,  an'  dc  hatchet, 
an'  de  knife  —  wha'  ebber  tings  we  kin  pick  up  in  do  hurry,  wti 
carry  clem  off  wid  us  clean.  An',  time  for  us  do  so,  my  chile, 
for  when  we  peep  out  de  swamp,  de  whole  nigger  quarter  da 
bu'n,  an'  wha'  ebber  clem  udder  people  bin  leff  dere,  he  bu'n  to 
cinders  an'  ashes  'for  you  kin  say  free  prayer  to  de  Lawd  for 
all  lie  mussies." 

The  sergeant  had  shown  himself  very  restless  during  all  this 
narration.  He  shifted  his  position  from  side  to  side  of  the  man 
tlepiece  ;  crossed  over;  now  stood  behind  the  captain;  now  be 
side  the  old  woman,  and,  at  moments,  had  his  eyes  and  hand 
lifted  up  as  if  in  meditation  ;  or,  as  the  fingers  of  his  one  hand 
were  crooked  and  elevated  successively,  it  might  be  in  computa 
tion.  When  the  old  lady  had  reached  what  seemed  a  natural 
pause  in  her  relation,  the  sergeant,  as  if  unable  to  contain  him 
self,  cried  out,  over  Porgy's  shoulders  — 

"  Why,  old  lady,  you  don't  mean  to  say  that  you've  got  all 
these  niggers  in  the  swamp  now  ?" 

"  De  Lawd  be  praise,  sah,  clay's  all  libbing  [living],  'cept  little 
Jupe,  do  bow-leg,  wha'  dead  by  break  he  neck ;  he  fall  from 
tree  he  bin  climb  one  night  for  catch  possum,  and  nebber  kick 
arter  he  touch  de  'airth." 

"All  living  but  leetle  Jupe  !"  quoth  the  sergeant,  lifting  his 
surviving  hand,  and  separately  displaying  the  ringers  sundry 
times  before  his  own  eyes,  muttering  all  the  while  the  talc  t<> 
himself,  with  eager  rapidity. 

"  Ef  that's  the  case,  ole  woman,  'cording  to  my  count,  you've 
got  in  the  swamp,  not  counting  you,  jest  eighteen.  niggTrs. 
There's  your  da'ter  Charlotte,  and  her  t\vo  children — (!;.-. ;'•; 
three  —  her  husband  makes  four;  Betty  and  her  husband,  find 


THE   GHOST    AT   GLEiN-KBERLEY.  315 

four  children,  that's  six,  in  all  ten ;    then  Cinda,  her  three  chil 
dren  and  her  husband — " 

"  Cinda  husban'  dead,  sah  !" 

"  Ah  !  yes  !  that's  true  ;  well,  Cinda  and  her  three  children, 
making  four,  put  to  the  other  ten,  is  fourteen,  by  all  counts  ; 
then  there's  two  other  women,  that's  sixteen,  and  two  bow-legged 
gals,  is  eighteen !  Eighteen  niggers  and  most  of  'em  women  ! 
And  you  mean  to  say,  old  lady,  that  all  these  people  are  jest 
now  in  the  swamp  a-hiding?" 

"  As  de  Lord  is  mussiful  to  me,  sah,  day's  all  derc,  'cept  JUJK,, 
as  I  bin  tell  you,  wha'  bre'k  he  neck,  by  fall  from  de  tree  when 
he  hunt  possum !" 

"  Jimini !  that's  great  intelligence,  cappin.  And  how  many 
of  these  is  grown  niggers,  old  lady — how  many  of  'em  good  to 
take  up  the  hoe  now,  and — " 

"  No  matter,  sergeant,"  said  Captain  Porgy,  who  had  been 
sitting  silent,  rather  sad,  indeed,  listening  to  his  ancient  nurse, — 
"  there  are  other  more  necessary  questions  — 

"  Sappho,  have  these  people  any  clothing  ?  Your  own  gar 
ments,  inauma,  are  thin  enough." 

"  Ah  !  my  chile,  we  bin  see  berry  hard  times ;  de  cloding 
[clothing]  is  moss  in  rag  ;  an'  we  try  for  keep  warm  by  de  fire  ; 
nn'  we  aint  feed  so  well,  my  son  ;  an'  when  Cromanty  Ben  come 
into  de  swamp  last  night  an'  say  to  me,  "  Mammy,  dere's  a  smoke 
coming  out  ob  maussa  house  windows  ;  I  wonder  Avho  day  in 
maussa  house  ?' — '  I  say  de  Lawd  be  praise  ef  my  chile  is  come 
home  to  git  his  people  clo'es  and  blanket.'  Den  day  all  'gree 
dat  I  must  come  out  and  see ;  dey  all  'fear'd  for  come,  for  fear 
de  toiies  an'  de  red-coats  grab  'em.  Day  knows  dat  day  nebber 
gwine  carry  off  poor  wort'less  old  woman  like  Sappho.  So  I 
come,  maussa,  an'  dis  de  trute  ob  all  my  ginerationV  in  de 
swamp." 

"  Jiminy !  captain  !  But  that  makes  the  force  quite  expecta 
ble.  We'll  do.  But  we'll  be  a-wanting  more  hoes  and  axes  j 
more  supplies  ;  you  must  make  a  bigger  list,  cappin  ;  we  must 
make  a  main  fine  crap  this  year,  in  spite  of  sarcumstances." 

And  the  sergeant  strode  -the  room  to  and  fro ;  his  one  hand 
waving  at  intervals ;  his  fingers  still  crooking  and  extending  in 
occasional  computations;  and  his  form  rising  up  into  unusual 


oil)  \V(. 

erectness,  while,  though  walking  in  his  stockings  only,  he  made 
the  floor  qniver  with  the  solemnity  of  his  tread.  The  old  woman 
had  more  to  say,  and  Porgy  more  to  ask,  but,  the  interruptions 
of  the  sergeant  were  too  frequent  to  suffer  other  parties  much 
liberty,  and  these  interruptions  were  the  more  frequent  and  more 
impatient  as  Millhouse  fancied  that  Porgy  dealt  in  much  very 
irrelevant  matter.  The  latter,  accordingly,  put  a  very  sudden 
close  to  all  further  talk  that  night,  by  saying : — 

"  Well,  old  lady,  it's  time  now  that  we  should  sleep.  We  are 
very  weary,  and  you,  at  your  time  of  life,  must  not  sit  up  too  late. 
Let  me  give  you  something  to  make  you  strong.  Sergeant,  we 
must  take  a  sup  of  Jamaica,  with  my  old  nurse." 

"  Won't  I,  cappin  !  She's  a  sensible  old  woman,  and  I  like 
her.  The  way  she  dodged  them  tories  and  red-coats,  and  saved 
them  niggers  for  us,  is  desarving  of  a  drink.  And  I  took  you  feir 
a  ghost,  old  lady,  would  you  believe  it,  and  ef  you  hadn't  a-hug- 
ged  and  kissed  so  close,  I'd  mout  be  ha'  b'lieved  it  to  the  very 
last." 

"  'Scuse  me,  sah  ;  but  I  fought  it  was  my  own  chile,  all  de 
time." 

"  Oh  !  you're  'scusable  enough,  under  the  sarcumstances.  But 
let's  have  the  drink  all  round." 

The  Jamaica  was  broached,  and  the  cup  which  Porgy  poured 
out  he  handed  to  the  old  woman. 

"  Drink  that,  Sappho,  it'll  help  to  strengthen  your  old  limbs." 

"  T'ank  you,  my  chile.  The  Lawd  is  good.  God  bress  you 
for  ebber,  a  t'ousand  times,  my  son  !  may  you  nebber  see  trouble 
in  de  house  ag'in  !" 

And  she  drank. 

"  Ha  !  it  makes  rne  feel  warm  to  de  heart.  It's  a  good  physic 
for  olc  people,  my  chile." 

"  And  for  young  ones  too,  old  lady,"  quoth  Millhouse,  empty 
ing  the  cup  at  a  swallow.  Porgy  drank,  then  giving  Sappho  a 
blanket,  he  conducted  her  into  the  shed  room  which  had  been 
assigned  to  Tom. 

"  Here,  mauma,  you  will  sleep  to-night.  To-morrow  we'll  see 
what's  to  be  done  for  the  people  in 'the  swamp.  Lie  down  now 
old  lady,  and  take  your  sleep.  Good  night." 

When  the  captain  returned  to  the  hall,  the  sergeant  seized 
his  arm  — 


THE    SERGEANT    1\    A     MAZE.  oil 

"  By  the  powers,  cappin,  luck's  with  us.  We'll  do.  We 
have  a  force  now  that  begins  to  tell  —  twenty-five  niggers,  and 
fill,  I  reckon,  able  to  hoe  a  task." 

"Let  us  sleep  now,  sergeant!"  said  Porgy. 

"  Sleep  !  May  I  be  squashed  unconvartibly  for  ever,  ef  1 
shall  be  able  to  shut  an  eye  to-night.  I'll  have  to  think  over 
everything  what's  to  be  done  with  these  other  niggers." 

u  As  you  please,  sergeant ;  but  you  will  suffer  me  to  sleep  if 
you  please."  And  Porgy  disappeared.  Millhouse  threw  him 
self  down  by  the  fire  — 

"  Sich  a  man !  he's  got  no  more  ambition  than  a  dirt-eater 
with  agy  [ague]  on  him.  He  kaint  even  shake,  he's  so  wanting 
in  the  proper  sperrit!" 

Let  us  drop  the  curtain  for  the  present. 


CHAPTER    XLV 

THK  SEUUKANT  IN  A  MAZE. — HE  RETORTS  UPON  THE  GHOST 

SOMETIME  after  midnight,  Lance  Frampton  and  his  sooty 
companions  returned  from  their  nocturnal  hunt.  They  had  been 
tolerably  successful,  having  bagged  three  possums  and  a  coon. 
The  dog  had  proved  his  merits,  having  had  a  severe  fight  with 
the  coon,  who*  was  a  well-grown  monster,  and  gave  in  only  after 
a  long  contest ;  yielding  without  a  cry  —  to  the  great  disappoint 
ment  of  Pompey,  who  was  particularly  anxious  to  extort  this 
sort  of  acknowledgment  from  the  victim.  Frampton  soon  fold 
ed  himself  up  for  sleep  in  his  blankets,  not  disturbing  Millhouse, 
who  slept  soundly  in  spite  of  his  own  convictions  to  the  contrary. 
He  muttered  and  turned  in  his  sleep,  evidently  dreaming  earn 
estly  ;  Frampton  being  able  to  distinguish  a  few  broken  sen 
tences,  in  which  the  sergeant  seemed  to  be  still  busy  in  a  diffi 
cult  but  interesting  arithmetic — 

"Eighteen    and    seven  —  twenty-five;  —  seven    women  —  no, 
nine  —  and  —  two  —  and  the  boys  —  and  — boo  ! — boo  ! — boo ! — " 

The  speech  was  swallowed  in  the  snore.     Our  friend  Tom, 
the  cook,  accompanied  by  Pomp,  wa^>  somewhat  surprised  to  fin3 


318  WOODCRAFT. 

his  chamber  partly  occupied,  and  by  a  woman  ;  but  Sappho 
awakened  at  his  entry  —  indeed,  the  old  woman  had  scarcely 
slept  —  age  never  sleeps  very  soundly  —  and  she  made  herself 
known  to  him  in  few  words,  and  soon  put  him  in  possession  of 
all  the  history  as  it  is  already  known  to  us.  This  was  done  in  low 
tones  so  as  not  to  disturb  the  household.  Pomp  was  soon  as 
oblivious  of  the  outer  world  as  a  stone,  and  Tom  finally  en 
treated  the  ancient  lady  to  forbear  all  further  revelations  for  the 
night. 

"  Kaise,  you  sees,  aunt  Sappho,  dis  'ere  boy,  you  humble  sar- 
bant,  he's  a-most  breck  down  wid  tire.  Ef  you  bin  know  all 
wha'  he  bin  do  to-day,  and  dis  'ere  coon  hunt  to-night,  you 
gwine  say  youse'f,  de  chile  better  hab  he  sleeps.  I  glad  for  see 
you,  aunt  Sappho,  berry  much  glad  for  see  you ;  kaise  you  bin 
olc  fellow  sarbant  wid  me,  and  I  bin  ycr  you  bin  dead.  But 
you  aint  dead,  I  see,  and  I  hopes  berry  much  you  aint  gwine  for 
dead,  long  time,  and  so,  aunt  Sappho,  as  I  bin  said  —  a-ye-ho-he- 
yo  he-me,  ya-ya-ya!"  (yawning  with  open  jaws,  wide  as  those 
of  the  great  cave  of  Kentucky)  ;  "  I  must  hab  some  sleeps  now ! 
and  de  Lord  bress  you,  aunt  Sappho  —  an'  I'll  tank  you  to  shct 
up  now  !" 

"  Tek'  you  sleeps,  my  son ;  I  sees  you  wants  'em.  I  terra 
[tell-aj  you  ebbry  t'ing  nudder  time.  You  kin  sleep  now,  I 
done  !" 

"Da's  a  good  aunty!  nudder  time  will  do  !"  And  Tom  soon 
followed  the  example  of  Pompey,  and  save  for  -an  occasional 
growl  from  Frainpton's  dog,  and  a  more  regular  succession  of 
noises,  scarcely  so  pleasant,  from  sundry  nasal  eminences  grow 
ing  upright  in  several  parts  of  the  household,  all  would  have 
been  entirely  quiet.  There  was  no  further  disturbance  during 
the  night. 

Bright  and  early,  Sergeant  Millhouse  was  afoot.  His  dream 
ing  and  waking  thoughts  had  greatly  contributed  to  his  power 
and  importance.  He  scarcely  gave  himself  time  to  get  his 
clothes  on,  before  he  presented  himself  at  the  entrance  of  the 
little  shod  room  to  which  Sappho  had  been  consigned. 

"Hello!  old  lady  —  Sapphy,  in  there  —  come  out,  and  let's 
have  a  good  look  at  you  by  daylight." 

There  was  no  answer.     He  repeated  the  summons.     It  way 


THE    SERGEANT    IN    A    MAZE.  319 

still  unnoticed.  He  grew  impatient,  and,  with  a  single  kick  at 
the  door,  sent  it  open,  and  penetrated  the  chamber.  It  was  dark. 
He  threw  open  the  window  —  the  room  was  empty.  There  was 
no  sleeper,  male  or  female,  in  the  apartment,  and  —  "which  sur 
prised  our  sergeant  still  more  —  no  signs  of  bed  or  blanket. 

"Why,  what  the  d— 1  !  WV»M  ha'  thought  an  old  skillyton 
of  a  woman  like  that  would  a1  Inn  out  and  off  so  early!  I 
reckon  she's  down  stairs  among  the  niggers." 

Down  he  goes  to  see.  The  negroes  were  just  turning  out, 
only  half  wakened, 

"  Hello  !  there  ?  whore's  the  ole  woman,  ole  Sapphy  ?' 

"  Sapphy  !  Ole  woman  !  Dar's  no  ole  woman  yer,  mass 
sergeant," 

"  No  ole  woman  !  Why,  where  kin  she  be  ?  Ah  !  she's 
gone  to  see  her  chile,  the  cappin  !  Mighty  fine  child,  I'm  a- 
thinking.  A  leetle  too  large  for  his  petticoats,  by  reason  that 
he  grows  so  fast." 

And  with  a  glorious  chuckle  at  his  own  wit,  the  sergeant  as 
cended  to  the  captain's  chamber  and  broke  in  without  ceremony. 
Porgy  was  already  up  and  at  the  window  shaving.  He  had 
been  up  for  some  time,  had  heard  the  sergeant's  inquiries  below, 
and  knowing  thoroughly  the  sort  of  person  with  whom  he  dealt, 
could  very  well  understand  the  motive  of  his  anxiety.  Porgy 
had  seen  old  Sappho  already  that  morning,  and  spoken  with  her 
at  the  window.  The  old  woman,  with  her  blanket  around  her 
by  way  of  a  cloak,  was  already  moving  off  to  join,  and  make  her 
report  to  her  "  generations"  in  the  swamp.  She  had  but  few 
words  with  her  foster  child  —  for  such  Porgy  had  been — and 
they  were  such  as  the  reader  can  readily  conceive  from  what 
has  been  shown  already.  As  the  sergeant  thundered  up  the 
steps  and  entered  the  piazza,  our  captain  of  partisans  readily 
conjectured  that  the  next  visit  of  Millhouse  would  be  to  himself. 
He  prepared  to  disquiet  him. 

"  Hello  !  cappin ;  would  you  think  it,  that  old  skillyton  of  a 
woman's  off  a'ready  ?" 

"  What  woman  do  you  mean,  Millhouse  ?" 

"  What  woman  !  Why  old  Sapphy,  to  be  sure,  that  I  tuk  fo? 
a  ghost  —  that  come  in  upon  me  last  night,  and  gin  me  such  a 
huggin',  and  a-kissin',  and  all  on  your  account." 


320 

"  I  really  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about,'  sergeant." 

"  Don't  know  what  I'm  a-talking  about !"  quoth  Millhouse,  in 
amazement — "Don't  know,  cappin  !  Why,  Lord  love  you,  the 
old  woman,  your  nuss,  that  calls  you  her  child,  that  hugged  and 
kissed  both  of  us  till  we  was  a-most  choked  and  smothered  —  the 
one  that's  got  the  niggers  in  the  swamp,  seven  ginerations  and 
more,  making  in  all  eighteen  good  hoe  hands.  Lord  save  us, 
how  kin  you  forgit  sich  a  matter  !" 

"  Forget !  How  should  I  remember  a  matter  which  I  never 
heard  of  before.  You're  certainly  dreaming,  sergeant." 

"  Dreaming,  cappin !  Ef  I  thought  so,  I'd  be  mighty  apt  to 
bust  my  brains  out  agin  the  fireplace  ;  but  you're  a-joking  only. 
Sartainly,  you  kaint  forgit  the  skin-dried  old  skillyton  of  a  woman 
that  slept  in  here  last  night ;  and  we  kim  [came]  into  your  room, 
both  on  us ;  and  you  was  a-setting  thar,  jest  on  the  edge  of  the 
b'anket,  and  she  was  setting  thar  jest  on  t'other  edge ;  and  I 
stood  up  thar  jest  agin  the  fireplace  ;  and  how  she  told  us  of 
her  gitting  away  from  the  red-coats  and  the  tories ;  she  and  her 
three  da'ters  —  I  'member  all  their  names  perfectly  ;  there  was 
Charlotte,  and  Betty,  and  Cinda  —  I  kniut  forget  —  and  Char 
lotte  had  two  children,  and  Betty  four,  and  Cinda  three,  and  two 
on  'em  had  husbands  living,  though  I  kaint  be  sartain  which,  all 
on  'em  in  the  swamp,  and  there  were  two  bow-legged  gals,  and 
there  was  a  bow-legged  boy,  and  Irs  name  was  Jupe  —  and,  you 
•kaint  forgit  that !  Jupe  fell  from  a  tree,  climbing  a'ter  coon, 
and  jest  broke  his  neck  outright ;  and  there  was  other  niggers, 
making  eighteen  in  all,  not  counting  old  skillyton  Sapphy  her 
self;  I  counted  'em  all  up  last  night,  and  ranged  'em  off  for 
working,  soon  as  they  come  in,  so  far  as  I  could,  not  having  seed 
any  on  'em.  You  must  'member  all  that  matter,  cappin." 

"  Not  a  syllable  !  It's  all  news  to  me,  sergeant !"  And  Porgy 
gazed  on  him  with  a  well-affected  amazement  of  stare  that  pro 
voked  the  most  natural  consternation  in  the  world  in  the  features 
of  the  other. 

"  The  d — 1  you  say !  But,  Lord,  cappin,  you  kaint  be  forgit- 
ting  your  own  ole  nuss,  Sapphy." 

"  I  never  to  my  knowledge,  Millliouse,  had  a  nurse  with  such 
a  name,  which  seems  to  be  that  of  a  heathen  goddess." 

"  Heathen  h-11 !  cappin  ;  she  set  thar,  I  tell  you." 


Till-:    SKIK.'KAXT    IN    A    MAZE.  321 

"  Impossible,  sergeant." 

"  And  she  warnt  in  your  room  last  night  ?" 

"  Not  that  I  know  of." 

1  Lord  help  me,  ef  I  shan't  go  crazy  !  And  I  warnt  in  youi 
room  last  night  1" 

"  It  may  be  that  you  were.  You  know  best.  If  you  were,  it 
was  while  I  slept." 

"  Slept !  By  the  powers,  cappin,  you  was  wide-awake  as  a 
black  fish ;  and  when  the  talk  was  over,  we  all  kirn  out,  and 
swallowed  a  little  Jamaiky  by  way  of  medicine.  And  we  gin 
the  old  nigger  a  cup  for  the  good  news  she  brought,  and  then 
you  gin  her  a  blanket,  and  you  showed  her  yourself  whar  to  sleep 
in  Tom's  room,  and  thar  we  left  her." 

"  This  is  a  strange  delusion  of  yours,  sergeant.  But  why  not 
go  to  the  room  and  find  her  there,  if  you  say  you  saw  her  go 
there  to  sleep  ?" 

"  Lord  save  me,  but  you  put  her  thar  yourself." 

"  There  you  are  mistaken  !  But,  if  such  is  your  notion,  go 
and  seek  her  there." 

"I've  been  thar,  and  she's  not  thar!"  cried  the  sergeant,  in 
a  state  of  approaching  perspiration. 

"  I  thought  so  !"  muttered  the  captain  of  partisans,  in  subdued 
tones,  but  sufficiently  loud  to  be  heard,  and  he  touched  his  head 
significantly  — 

"  Millhouse,  your  suppers  are  too  heavy.  I  would  counsel 
you  against  much  meat  at  night.  A  single  bit  of  that  broiled 
ham  —  the  slices  thin — is  quite  enough  for  any  decent  white  man. 
And  in  eating  your  hoe-cake,  take  my  counsel  to  reject  the  soft 
er  parts  ;  confine  yourself  entirely  to  the  crisp  portions,  the  crust. 
Besides,  coffee  is  a  wonderful  stimulant  of  the  brain.  Don't  go 
over  a  pint  hereafter  at  night ;  and,  perhaps,  it  will  be  well  to 
deny  yourself  the  freedom  of  the  Jamaica  after  a  certain  hour. 
Say,  a  single  glass  after  smoking  your  last  pipe,  and  then  to 
sleep.  Believe  me,  my  good  fellow,  by  observing  these  simple 
forbearances,  you  will  escape  the  visitation  of  the  nightmare. 
She  has  evidently  given  you  a  fearful  hug  last  night." 

"  'Twas  the  old  skilly  ton  nigger,  I  tell  you  —  'twas  Sapphy, 
your  miss,  and  not  any  nightmar'.  Lord,  cappin,  ef  you  wouldn't 
drive  me  'stracted,  don't  you  go  on  so.  Warnt  that  old  nigger 


322  WOODCRAFT. 

litre,  that  nuss  of  yourn,  as  skinny  as  a  dry  peach-skin —  all 
skin  and  hone  —  warnt  she  setting  thai*  for  a  good  hour,  a-telling 
us  of  her  da'ters  in  the  swamp,  and  their  children,  and  their  hus 
bands,  and  of  the  boy  Jupe,  that  broke  his  neck  a'ter  the  coon, 
and  them  two  bow-legged  gals,  his  sisters.  Now,  jest  be  sensi 
ble,  cappin,  and  tell  all  about  it,  as  I  seed  and  heard  it  my  own 
self." 

"  I  can  tell  you  nothing  more,  sergeant.  You've  certainly  had 
a  very  lively  dream  last  night,  which  I  should  greatly  like  to 
see  realized." 

"  A  dream  !  Lord  !  Lord  !  I  shill  go  crazy  and  outright  re- 
stracted  !  And  you  hadn't  a  nuss  named  Sapphy  ?" 

"Never!" 

"Oh  !   Lord,  what  shall  I  be  thinking  !'' 

"  Don't  cat  so  much  at  night  again,  sergeant." 

"  It  kaint  be  a  dream  ! — " 

"  Leave  off  the  coffee  in  particular !" 

"  I  swow  !  it  warnt  no  dream  !" 

"  One  drink  only  of  Jamaica,  after  your  last  pipe." 

"  Ef  'twas  a  dream  it  was  as  much  like  the  r«al  and  living  life 
as  I  ever  seed  it." 

"  That's  always  the  case  with  pleasant  dreams,  sergeant ;  but 
they  always  lead  to  disappointment.  What  a  glorious  crop  you 
could  make  if  your  dream  of  those  eighteen  negroes  were  true  ?" 

"  Lord,  yes  !  and  I  had  jest  set,  my  heart  on  beating  Fordham 
out  of  sight.  But  0  !  stairs,  cappin,  it  ought  to  be  true  and  it 
must  be  true." 

Just  then  Tom  was  heard  below,  calling  to  Pomp. 

"  Thar's  Tom  !  He  must  ha'  seed  her  ef  she  was  thar.  I'll 
ax  him." 

"  Do  so,"  says  Porgy,  "  and  satisfy  yourself.  It  will  do  you 
some  good  and  make  you  less  certain  of  your  dreams  hereafter." 

Millhouse  sallied  out,  and  Porgy  darting  to  the  window,  caught 
the  eye  of  Tom,  ascending  the  stairs  to  the  piazza,  and  motioned 
with  his  hands  to  him.  At  that  moment  Millhouse  from  the  hall 
<tried  out  to  him  — 

"  Look  you,  Tom,  where's  the  old  nigger-woman  what  slept 
in  your  room  last  night  ?" 

Porgy  shook  his  head  negatively  to  the  cook.    Tom  was  quick 


THE  SERGEANT   IN   A   MAZE.  323 

to  conceive,  and  knew  thoroughly  the  habits  of  the  captain  of 
partisans,  as  a  practical  joker.  He  immediately  conjectured  what 
was  required  of  him,  and  his  answer  was  as  prompt  as  if  dicta 
ted  by  the  very  mother  of  the  truth. 

"  Wha'  womans  you  talk  'bout,  mass  Millh'us  ?  I  aint  see  nary 
old  nor  young  woman  'pon  dis  place !" 

"  The  h-11  you  aint !  The  Lord  be  mareiful  to  my  poor 
senses." 

"  Somet'ing  seem  for  trouble  you,  mass  Millh'us  •  may  be  you 
is  berry  much  hungry  for  you  hreakus." 

"D — n  the  breakfast !  Oh  !  thar's  Pomp  !  I  recken  he  must 
ha'  seed  the  old  woman." 

Pomp  was  beginning  to  ascend  the  steps  leading  to  the  back 
piazza,  at  the  heaa  of  which  Tom  stood.  Tom  replied  for  Pomp, 
in  tones  loud  enough  for  the  other  fo  hoar. 

"  Wha',  Pomp  !  How  kin  he  see  ole  woman  in  my  room,  ef 
me,  Tom,  no  bin  see  'em  ?  Heh  !  Pomp?  Speak,  boy, — you 
no  bin  see  no  ole  woman  in  de  room  whay  we  sleeps  las'  night?" 

Tom's  tone,  and  the  fierce  scowl  which  he  put  on  while  speak 
ing  to  the  boy,  effectually  taught  the  latter  what  sort  of  answer 
was  required  from  him,  and  he  responded  without  hesitation  — 

"  Nebber  see  ole  woman  in  de  room,  uncle  Tom." 

"  Da's  wha'  I  say,  mass  Millh'us.  You  muss  ha?  bin  dream 
'bout  dat  old  woman." 

"  Dream  !  Lord  !  Lord  !  and  here  am  I  a  loser  of  eighteen 
niggers,  fas'  rate  fiel'  hands,  and  nobody  seems  to  care  about  it. 
Lord  ha'  marcy  upon  you,  cappin  !"  returning,  as  he  spoke,  to 
Porgy's  room — "  but  you  don't  seem  as  ef  you  had  any  feeling 
for  your  own  losses.  Now,  I  'member  —  ef  'twas  a  dream  I  had 
of  that  skilly  ton  nigger  wench,  —  I  thought  it  mighty  strange  you 
show'd  so  little  consarn  when  I  told  you  about  putting  the 
eighteen  niggers  to  work,  and  what  they'd  hev'  to  do.  I  thought 
it  mighty  onnatural,  of  you  last  night ;  but  I  feel  its  mighty  on- 
natural,  now,  as  it  looks  to  me  this  morning.  Eighteen  able 
bodied  niggers  gone,  as  I  may  say,  in  the  snapping  of  a  finger. 
I  does  feel  so  mean.  Tom,  old  fellow,  do  let's  have  breakfus' 
mighty  soon.  We  are  gwine  to  see  Mrs.  Eb'leigh  to-day,  and 
must  fix  up  for  it.  Lord  !  Lord  !  ef  I  could  only  ha'  told  »her 
'bout  them  eighteen  niggers  Dv.t  of  the  swamp,  add^d  on  to  the 


324  '        WOODCRAF'l. 

poor  seven  we've  got  now  !  How  could  I  ha'  dreamed  a  thing 
so  nateral,  and  seed  the  old  woman  so  cl'ar  in  the  firelight,  and 
felt  her  a-hngging  me,  and  a-kissing  me,  with  her  nose  and  chin 
poking  into  my  face  all  the  time.  'Twarn't  no  dream,  I  swow, 
cappin  —  'twarn't  no  dream.  'Twas  too  nateral  for  a  dream  !  I 
kaint  help  but  b'lieve  it  all,  try  the  best  I  kin !" 

At  that  moinent,  a  strange  voice  was  heard  without.  Millhouse 
started  and  prick' cl  up  his  ears.  In  the  next  moment,  Porgy  saw 
him  dart  forward,  with  a  shriek  of  delight.  The  captain  of 
partisans  looked  out  of  the  window  upon  the  piazza,  and  there 
the  spectacle  of  the  night  was  reversed.  It  was  old  Sappho, 
who  was,  this  time,  nearly  suffocated  in  the  embrace  of  the  ser 
geant  ! 


CHAPTER    XLVI. 

iNEAR    APPROACHES    TO    SANS-CULOTTISM. 

"  GOD  bless  you,  my  beautyful  old  nigger.  I'll  love  you  tell 
my  heart  drops  out  of  my  body  for  this  visit.  You're  jest  as 
beautiful  now,  to  my  eyes,  as  ef  you'd  dropt  out  of  heaven,  and 
brought  all  the  bright  stairs  along  with  you.  But,  Lord,  old  wo 
man,  what  a  scare  you've  given  me.  I  thought  you  had  ruined 
me  for  ever.  To  lose  eighteen  niggers,  without  a  minute's  warn 
ing,  aint  so  easy  to  be  stood,  I  tells  you ;  and  I  begun  mightily 
to  feel  as  ef  you  had  done  me  that  same  dissarvice ;  made  me  a 
rich  man  first,  only  to  make  me  poorer  than  ga'  broth  arterwards  ! 
Lord  !  with  what  an  etarnal  honest  face,  the  cappin  kin  lie ;  and 
lie  so  bodily; — lying  through  the  whole  melon,  and  never  chok 
ing  at  the  rine  [rind].  But  I  forgive  him  !  The  Lord  be  praised  ! 
old  lady,  I  must  give  you  another  hug.  I'm  so  spontinaciously 
happy." 

"  Tank  'e,  maussa,"  answered  old  Sappho,  quietly,  and  without 
any  struggling  to  extricate  herself — "but  I  tinks  you  wasn't  so 
glad  to  hug  de  ole  woman  las'  night !" 

".Thar'  you  hev'  me,  old  lady.  That  was  kaise  I  didn't  know 
you  then.  'Member,  you  kim  in  like  a  sperrit,  and  you  tuk  me, 


NEAR    APPROACHES   TO   SANS-CULOTTISM.  32f) 

by  snpprise  a  lectio.  'Twas  onawares  you  tuk  me.  I  warn! 
scared,  but  I  felt  as  ef  I  didn't  know  you,  and  to  be  sqnee/ed  up 
lovingly  by  a  body  one  dont  know,  and  pretty  much  in  the  dark 
as  we  was,  is  mighty  apt  to  make  a  pusson  feel  jubous  and  on 
sartin  what  to  say  or  do.  But  now  that  I  knows  you,  and  what 
you  come  for,  I'm  your  well-wisher,  and  friend,  and  off'cer,  and 
I  takes  you  continentally,  as  I  may  say,  into  the  ranks." 

"  Are  you  still  dreaming,  sergeant  ?"  cried  Porgy,  emerging 
from  his  chamber,  and  coming  out  into  the  piazza. 

"  You're  jest  about  the  fattest  sinner  living,  cappin,  and  can 
jest  now  lie  as  easy  as  ef  a  conscience  warn't  no  sort  of  trouble 
to  you  at  all.  En,  how  did  you  put  up  that  black  faced  satan, 
Tom,  there,  and  Pomp,  to  back  your  lying  for  you  1  Lord  !  how 
uaieral  they  did  it.  As  sure  as  a  gun  you'll  all  go  to  the  devil 
together,  and  not  one  soul  of  you  miss  the  road." 

"  When  that  time  comes,  sergeant,  you  will  be  fourjd  leading 
the  forlorn  hope  !  —  Well,  Sappho,  my  good  old  woman,  you  are 
as  sprightly  as  a  girl  of  sixteen.  You've  done  more  work  than 
all  of  us  together.  And  these  are  my  poor  people.  Charlotte, 
and  Betty,  and  Cinda,  I  remember ;  and  Ben — " 

"An'  Eli,  maussa;  you  'member  Eli,  enty?" 
was  the  interruption  of  Betty's  husband  who  now  ascended 
the  steps,  leading  the  way  for  the  group,  and  grappled  the  captain 
by  the  hand.  His  example  was  followed  by  all  the  rest ;  and 
numberless  and  sufficiently  various  were  the  exclamations  of  re 
joicing  on  every  hand. 

"  De  Lord  be  praise,  maussa,  you  come  home  at  las' !"  "  Tanks 
be  to  de  Fader  !"  "  Oh  !  I  so  happy,  aunty  !"  and  —  "  Maumy, 
maussa  come  !  Enty  you  glad  ?"  "  Glad  for  cry,  my  chile." 

But  we  need  not  multiply  the  phrases.  The  character  of  tht* 
catalogue  may  be  sufficiently  conjectured  from  these  samples 
But  he  who  knows  what  a  Carolina  plantation  is  —  one  of  the 
old  school  —  one  of  an  ancient  settlement  —  where  father  and 
son,  for  successive  generations,  have  grown  up,  indissolubly  - 
mingled  with  the  proprietor  and  his  children  for  a  hundred  years, 
may  follow  out  the  progress,  and  repaint  the  picture  for  himself. 
Porgy  had  few  words,  but  his  sympathies  were  more  clearly  ex 
pressed,  to  the  eyes  of  all  the  slaves,  than  if  he  had  spoken  them 
in  the  best  chosen  language.  As  the  several  groups  passed  up 


326  WOODCRAFT. 

the  steps,  and  gave  way  for  eacli  other,  the  men  with  their  wives 
and  their  children,  the  calculating  sergeant  could  not  contain  his 
joy.  Now  he  strode  up  and  down  the  piazza,  counting  with  the 
fingers  of  his  solitary  hand.  Anon,  he  paused  to  take  with  an 
^affectionate  grasp,  some  one  girl  or  boy  by  the  shoulder,  according 
as  the  development  showed  a  desirable  strength. 

"  Eighteen,  by  the  powers,  and  every  one  of  them  a  fuss  rate 
for  the  field.  Dream,  indeed  !  Did  I  dream  !  Lord,  how  some 
people  will  lie.  Cappin,  I'll  never  forgive  you  that  trick.  I 
b'lieve  its  made  some  of  my  hairs  turn  gray." 

Porgy,  meanwhile,  gave  the  negroes  a  brief  talk.  He  should 
soon  visit  the  city  and  find  them  in  clothes  and  blankets,  hats 
and  shoes.  In  truth,  these  were  all  greatly  needed.  Nothing 
but  the  abundant  stores  of  lightwood,  which  the  country  afforded, 
could  possibly  have  kept  the  poor  wretches  from  freezing,  even 
in  a  Carolina  winter.  Affectionately  welcomed,  and  assured  of 
proper  provisions,  they  were  all  dismissed  to  the  basement  rooms 
for  the  present,  except  old  Sappho,  for  whom  the  captain  was 
resolved  to  provide  elsewhere. 

"And  now,"  said  he,  "here  is  Pomp  signalling  us  for  break 
fast.  I  trust,  Millhouse,  that  your  dreams  have  not  spoiled  your 
tppetite." 

"  No  thanks  to  you,  that  it  liaint.  Ef  the  dream  hadn't  ha' 
come  true,  I'd  ha'  hardly  eaten  to-day.*  But  ef  I  don't  eat  now, 
it's  only  bekaise  I'm  still  busy  a-dreaming. 

Breakfast  was  soon  despatched,  when  Sappho  was  called  in 
to  take  her  portion  from  the  table.  This  duty  over,  another  of 
much  more  embarrassing  character  was  to  be  attended  to  —  the 
examination  of  the  several  wardrobes  of  our  partisans,  in  order 
to  a  proper  exhibition  at  the  dinner  party  of  the  widow  Eveleigh. 

The  entire  stock  of  clothing  possessed  by  Captain  Porgy 
(that  portion  excepted  which  he  wore  in  common)  was  carried 
in  a  rude  deerskin  portmanteau  or  valise,  of  camp  manufacture, 
—  the  workmanship  of  a  common  soldier.  Beyond  a  single  dress- 
suit,  that  is  for  dress  parade,  our  partisan  had  but  very  little  t'» 
boast,  There  may  have  been  a  change  of  small-clothes,  —  two 
pair,  in  brief,  one  of  buff  and  one  of  blue,  —  that  which  he  wore 
belonging  to  neither  color.  It  might  have  been  blue  once, 
possible  gray,  but  time,  and  sun,  and  rain,  and  wind,  and  frequent 


NEAR  APPROACHES  TO  SAXS-CULOTTISM.  327 

intercourse  with  the  soil,  had  lei'L  the  original  ground-woik  very 
questionable,  and,  to  be  safe,  we  will  call  it  neutral.  When  the 
portmanteau,  which  had  never  known  the  safe  virtues  of  a  lock, 
was  unstrapped,  and  the  contents  displayed,  uppermost  appeared 
the  two  articles  already  mentioned.  The  blue  small  clothes 
were  first  examined.  As  at  first  opened,  they  suggested  the 
idea  of  an  enormous  sack,  such  as  might  now  serve  to  take  in  a 
bale  of  long  cottons.  Capacious  as  they  seemed,  however,  the 
experience  of  the  captain  had  determined  that  they  were  by  no 
means  sufficiently  ample  to  afford  him  the  degree  of  freedom 
which  he  required  when  dining  out.  To  the  eye,  the  blues  were 
the  least  questionable  of  his  small-clothes,  in  consequence  of  the 
fact  that  they  had  been,  on  several  occasions,  —  as  they  seemed 
to  need  it — rcdipped  in  a  decoction  of  the  native  indigo.  But 
even  these  wore  a  suspicious  whiteness  in  certain  spots,  which, 
unless  he  wore  his  hunting  frock,  by  which  they  were  covered, 
were  apt  to  obtrude  themselves  rather  boldly  upon  the  sight  of 
the  spectators.  Though  faded,  here  and  there,  however,  the 
blues  were  intact  —  there  were  no  awkward  rents  or  patches; 
and  no  places  so  much  worn  as  to  keep  the  wearer  in  constant 
apprehension  of  an  explosion.  Porgy,  with  the  help  of  Tom 
and  Pomp,  subjected  them  to  a  severe  scrutiny,  and  they  were 
then  laid  aside  for  a  moment. 

"  They're  the  best,"  quoth  Porgy,  musingly,  "if  they  were  not 
so  atrociously  contracted  about  the  hips  and  waist.  I'm  always 
in  dread  lest  I  should  burst  them." 

"Day  strong,  rnaussa." 

"  Yes,  Tom  !  But  not  strong  enough  for  everything,  and  the 
widow  will,  no  doubt,  give  us  a  first-rate  dinner,  and  I  am  in 
honor  bound  to  do  justice  to  it.  There  will  be  wines,  too,  and 
I  must  drink,  —  I  will  drink,  and  try  every  variety  that's  offered. 
By  Bacchus!  the  very  idea  of  wine  inspires  me.  It's  long  sinco 
I've  smacked  my  lips  upon  the  tears  of  the  vineyard.  Lift  up 
the  buffs,  Pomp." 

The  garment  thus  described  dangled  in  the  air  from  the  ex 
tending  finger  of  Pompey. 

"They  would  do  well,  in  respect  to  size  ;  but  these  d — d  patch- 
es,  Tom." 

"Day  mighty  broad  in  de  face,  maussa." 


328  WOODCRAFT. 

"As  the  full  moon,  Tom,  though  less  bright  of  complexion.' 

"Ef  you  puts  on  dese,  maussa,  you  hal)  for  wear  de  shirt 
[hunting].  De  pigeon-tail  neither  guine  to  cuhher  [cover]  'em." 

The  hurts  of  the  garment  were  chiefly  in  the  rear  Porgy 
iUvnys  seated  himself  with  emphasis.  Sometimes,  indeed,  he 
•-•nne  to  the  ground,  though  letting  himself  down  never  so  easily, 
ivith  something  of  a  shock.  The  results  always  told  fearfully 
:>n  his  small-clothes.  The  buffs  had  particularly  suffered,  and 
in  this  special  region.  The  consequence  was  that  it  had  become 
necessary,  on  more  than  one  occasion,  to  "put  a  plaister  on 
them," —  using  Millhouse's  descriptive  phraseology.  Now,  this 
plaister  or  patch,  or  pair  of  patches  —  for  Porgy  wore  his  clothes 
with  some  uniformity  —  at  least  in  wearing  them  out,  —  were, 
for  two  sufficient  reasons,  supplied  with  buckskin,  dressed  in 
camp,  and  with  sufficient  rudeness.  Nothing  but  buckskin,  it 
was  thought,  could  possibly  endure  the  constant  strain  and 
pressure  in  the  ailing  region.  But,  besides  this,  the  buff  was  not 
to  be  found  in  camp.  The  art  which  was  available  in  that  re 
gion,  was  not  of  a  sort  to  make  the  boundary  line  of  patch  as 
similate  naturally  with  the  original  continent  of  cloth ;  and 
though,  from  use,  the  buff  and  buckskin  had  gradually  grown  to 
look  alike,  as  loving  wife  and  husband  are  said  to  do  after  certain 
seasons,  —  yet  it  needed  no  critical  eye  to  discover  that  there 
were  ridges,  rising  almost  into  promontories,  by  which  the  lines 
of  union,  or  demarcation,  were  at  once  distinguished.  A  frequent 
renewal  of  the  stitch  had  increased  the  deformity,  and  upon 
present  inspection  it  was  found  that  the  craft  of  the  tailor  was 
even  now  necessary  to  reunite  the  parts,  and  renew  the  integrity 
of  the  bonds  that  held  them  together. 

"He  tear  out  yer,  maussa." 

"Torn!"  with  some  horror. 

"  Yes,  he  breck  out,  and  der's  leetle  hole  working  yer,  in  de 
middle  ob  the  ledder  [leather].  Lor,  a  mighty,  massa,  you's 
too  hard  'pon  you  breeches!  'Taint  decent  and  like  gemple- 
mans,  de  way  you  wear  you  clo'es." 

"Get  out,  you  rascal,  and  get  ready  to  sew  them  up  at  once. 
Gret  your  needle  and  thread  ;  or  see  Sappho,  and  see  if  some  of 
these  young  grand-daughters  of  hers  can't,  do  the  work  less  clum 
sily.  1  reckon  she's  taught  some  of  them  to  sew'' 


NEAR  APPROACHES  TO  SANS-CTI.OTTISM.  829 

The  girl  was  found,  and  squat  upon  tlie  floor,  provided  with 
all  Tom's  stock  in  trade  as  a  tailor,  she  was  soon  busy  with  the 
garihefct. 

"Ef  you  wears  the  buffs,  rnaussa,  you  hab  for  wear  de  shirt." 

"Yes!  yet  the  dress  coat  is  more  in  style,"  said  Porgy,  with 

•inething  of  a  sigh,  lifting  both  coats  up  at  the  same  moment, 

nd   holding  them  apart   for  survey,  in  separate   hands.      The 

hunting-shirt  was  a  blue  homespun;  the  dress-coat  was  a  faint 

approach  to  the  proper  army-uniform  of  a  captain  in  those  days. 

It  was  of  broadcloth,  originally  red,  but  thrice  dyed  in  blue.    The 

latter  color,  however,  had  somewhat  faded,  and  the  red,  or  a 

most  unnatural  phase  of  it,  was  about  to  reappear  through  the 

subsequent  dye. 

"Ef  we  had  some  indigo  to  gee  dat  coat  a  dip  now,"  quoth 
Tom,  himself  rather  preferring  the  garment  on  account  of  its  tex 
ture  and  brighter  buttons. 

"  Still  I  couldn't  wear  it  with  the  buffs.  No !  no  !  I  must  wear 
the  shirt.  It  helps  to  cover  the  territory  requiring  to  be  con 
cealed,  and  to  hide  these  wornout  acres." 

"  He's  acre  for  true,"  growled  Tom,  looking  at  the  patches 
which  the  negro  girl  was  repairing.  "  He  big  like  de  skairt  ob 
saddle." 

"  They  must  do*,  nevertheless,"  muttered  Porgy,  with  a  dole 
ful  visage.  "  Examine  the  coat,  Tom,  the  hunting  shirt,  and 
see  if  it's  sound." 

"  Hab  breck  under  the  arm,  maussa." 

"Throw  it  to  Pussy,  and  let  her  sew  it  up.  Now,  Pomp,  un 
roll  me  that  homespun  bundle.  We  must  see  for  shirts  and 
stockings." 

"  Ha  !  Shirt  and  stockin'.  I  'speek  clem  guine  gee  you  trouble 
'miff  for  fin'." 

Pomp  unrolled  the  bundle.  The  stockings  appeared  —  well 
saved  —  the  dress  pair,  —  used  by  the  captain  only  on  state  occa 
sions —  of  thick  white  cotton.  They  had  been  a  present  from 
the  widow  Griffin. 

"  He  all  gone  at  de  heel  and  toes,  maussa." 

"  Fortunately  those :  purts  are  buried  in  the  shoes.  What  of 
the  shirt,  Pomp?"  . 

Pomp  proceeded  to  unfold  it.     There  was  but  one. 


330  WOODCRAFT. 

"Tenderly,  you  rascal;  do  you  think  you're  handling  a  side 
of  leather.  Are  your  hands  clean,  you  monkey.  Look  at  the 
fellow,  Tom  j  take  it  from  him.  He  will  have  it  in  rags  without 
a  warning." 

"Ha!  maussa,  only  le'  um  'lone,  he  tumble  into  rags  hese'f." 

"  But  we  musn't  let  it  alone,  you  rascal,  and  we  must  be  care 
ful  that  it  does  not  tumble  into  rags  until  this  day's  business  is 
ovcv.  It  was  once  the  best  of  Irish  linen.  It  is  the  last  of  six 
dozen.  Six  dozen!  Heavens!  was  I  indeed  the  owner  of  six 
dozen  shirts  at  one  time!" 

"Ha!  ef  that  was  the  only  'stravagance  and  foolishness, 
maussa.  You  le'  de  sergeant  know  you  bin  once  Lab  six  dozen 
shu't,  all  tie  same  time,  Le  gee  you  h-11  ob  a  sarmon  'bout  you 
'stravagance  !  But,  de  Lord  sabe  us,  maussa,  de  shu't  aint  all 
yer  [here] !  All  de  skairt  ob  de  back  is  gone."  And  Tom  dis 
played  the  ill-conditioned  garment  outright. 

"  The  skirt  gone  !  How!  Where? — True,  by  Jupiter.  That 
infernal  savage.  It  was  Indian  Bet  that  washed  it  last.  The 
catamount.  She  has  torn  it  out  and  carried  off  the  fragment 
Look  in  the  portmanteau  for  the  piece!" 

"Ingin  Bet  nebber  bin  carried  'em  off'  in  dis  worP.  Wha,  he 
carry  'em  for?  He  too  rotten.  Ingin  Bet  good  Land  for  tier, 
but  Le  nebber  guine  tief  rotten  sLu't.  Look,  Pomp,  I  'speck  lie 
must  be  in  de  bottom  day  [tliere] !" 

TLe  search  was  vain.    And  Porgy  stood  aghast  at  tlie  spectacle. 

"What's  to  be  done,  Tom!" 

"Is  de  buzzum  good  in  de  front?" 

"Yes." 

"Well!  easy  'miff.  De  coat  cubber  de  back,  you  know.  See 
yer  !  yer's  de  hole  for  put  you  head  t'rough.  When  you  guine 
dress,  I  'tan  behin'  you  and  slip  de  shu't  ober,  and  when  you 
hab  'em  on,  I  get  t'read  [thread]  and  make  Pussy  'titch  [stitch] 
two  free,  sebben,  five  'titch  cross  de  back  for  hold  de  two  side 
togodder.  Da's  de  way  for  do  'em;  I  see.  I  guine  fix  em." 

A  white  vest  was  found  in  the  valise ;  a  leather  stock,  a  pair 
of  yellow  buckskin  gloves;  and,  after  a  fashion,  Porgy  succeeded 
in  displaying,  ready  for  use,  the  entire  habit  which  he  was  to 
wear  that  day.  This  done,  he  proceeded,  with  the  help  of  Tom 
and  Pomp,  to  put  himself  in  harness. 


NEAR   APPROACHES  TO  SANS-CULOTTISAI.  ool 

Talk  of  the  iron  garments  of  ancient  chivalry  !  Never  <li<\ 
tl_e  closing  of  rivets  on  the  part  of  the  knights  of  the  English 
Harrys  and  Edwards,  on  the  eve  of  battle,  requhe  more  time 
and  painstaking,  or  cause  more  anxiety  to  pages  and  squires, 
and  armor-hearers  and  armorers,  then  did  the  costuming  of 
their  master,  that  day,  occasion  to  his  two  sable  attendants. 
Such  gingerly  handling  of  coat,  and  vest,  and  shirt,  and  small 
clothes,  was,  perhaps,  scarcely  ever  beheld  before v  The  adjust- 
merit  of  the  captain's  linen,  was  especially  a  subject  of  some 
solicitude.  While  he  sat  upon  a  keg,  Tom,  standing  on  one 
side,  arid  Pomp  on  the  other,  the  former  quietly  dropped  the 
garment,  shorn  of  its  fair  proportions,  over  his  neck. 

While  Porgy  buttoned  it  at  the  throat,  and  slipped  his  arms  into 
the  sleeves,  the  two  attendants  seized  the  skirts  at  a  signal,  and 
drawing  the  sundered  sides  as  nearly  together  as  they  dared, 
Pussy,  the  girl,  with  a  dozen  successive  stitches,  united  the  re 
luctant  skirts,  but  not  so  as  to  cover  a  large  waste  of  territory 
between,  which,  until  Porgy  could  get  his  vest  and  coat  on,  re 
mained  as  bare  in  back  as  a  Pict  in  full  armor.  Porgy  sat  erect 
during  the  operation,  never  daring  even  to  move,  until  Tom  gave 
him  permission  by  telling  him  — 

"You  kin  feel  yourse'f  a  leetle  now,maussa;  but  tek  kear  how 
you  ben'  you  back,  and  'tretch  out  you'  arm,  tell  you  git  on  you 
coat  and  weckset.  Dis  here  shu't  nebber  guine  tan'  pull  and 
jerk,  mek'  'em  easy  as  you  kin." 

"  Fed  myself  a  little,  indeed !  I  certainly  should  like  to  feel 
myself  less?  —  Hand  me  those  shoes,  Pomp!" 

"Ha!  Hello!  Boy!  —  Wha' dis?  You  never  bin  brush  you 
maussa  shoes  ebber  sencc  he  bin  trabble  in  all  dat  mud  wid  'em  ?" 

"I  no  see  any  brush,  uncle  Tom!" 

"Ha!  you  no  see  any  brush,  you  bull  eye  nigger!  I  tek' 
hole'  ob  you,  I  show  y6u  brush  on  de  back  wid  sights  ob  hick'ry. 
Git  out,  and  fin'  piece  ob  clot',  and  see  you  rub  off  de  mud  from 
dem  boot'  fore  I  kin  crook  my  elbow.  Clot'  is  brush,  you  Avar- 
mint,  ef  you  use  'em  so." 

Pomp  was  off,  and  Porgy  resigned  himself  patiently  on  the  keg, 
which  sufficed  him  for  a  chair,  until  his  inexperienced  "  valley  de 
sham"  could  re-appear  Meanwhile,  Tom  handed  him  his  hunt 
ing-shirt. 


832 

"  Look  you,  maussa,"  said  the  cook,  as  he  helped  his  mastei 
on  with  the  coat  —  "You  hab  for  walk  'traight  in  dis  coat.  He 
aint  so'trong  arter  all.  You  mus'  tek'  care  and  no  t'rowyouse'f 
'bout  when  you  at  Miss  Ebleigh's.  Ef  you  forgit,  sometime,  and 
t'row  out  you  arm  too  wide,  you'll  breck  somewhere,  I  know  ;  in 
de  sleeb,  or  under  de  arm,  or  mout  be  in  de  back ;  an'  ef  once 
he  begin  for  go,  dere's  no  stopping  'em.  You'll  breck  all  side, 
I  tell  you,  and  de  breeches  will  be  for  busting  out  too ;  and  dat 
won't  do  no  how,  when  you  da  'stan'  [stand]  'fore  de  ladies. 
Min'  wlia'  I  tell  you,  maussa,  and  walk  'traight  track.  Be  berry 
preticklar,  jis'  when  you's  gitting  off  de  boss;  and  when  you's 
a-walking  up  de  steps,  don't  you  'tretch  out  for  hoi'  de  ban 
nister  ;  and  when  you's  a-talking  big  wid  de  lady,  you  mustn't 
tink  for  raise  up  you  arm  to  de  heabens,  as  ef  you  was  a-cailing 
<!e  sun,  and  de  moon  to  be  witness  for  wha'  you  say.  'Twon't  do : 
—  you'll  be  breck  out  ebbry  side  ef  you  guiiie  try  for  do  all  dem 
mighty  t'ings.  Set  down  easy  in  de  chair,  and  don't  you  go  for 
'trad die  you  legs  too  wide.  I  no  'pen'  [depend]  'pon  dese 
breeches  't  all." 

"It's  come  to  a  pretty  pass,  indeed,  when  such  a  sooty  scamp 
as  you  are,  Tom,  undertakes  to  teach  me  how  to  carry  myself  in 
a  lady's  presence." 

"Enty  I  know?" 

"  So,  you  think  I  had  better  not  lift  my  leg  unadvisedly  so — " 

"Top,  maussa;  you  sure  for  bu'st  dem  breeches." 

"Or  throw  out  my  arms,  right  or  left,  —  so!" 

"  Lawd !  maussa,  don't  you  now !  De  coat  is  ready  for  pop 
ebbry  way." 

"  I  feel  it,  Tom !  I  shall  be  cautious  fbr  my  own  sake,  not  less 
than  for  decency's.  But,  be  off;  send  Pomp  to  me  with  the  shoes, 
old  fellow,  and  see  what  you  can  do  toward  fixing  up  the  lieu 
tenant  and  the  sergeant.  They'll  need  quite  as  much  help  as 
myself,  I  fancy,  in  preparing  themselves  for  this  visit." 

Tom  disappeared.  The  shoes  were  soon  brought  by  Pomp 
and  drawn  on  with  a  degree  of  care  and  deliberation  which  show 
ed  that  our  captain  of  partisans  was  as  duly  sensible  as  Tom  of 
the  danger  which  might  follow  any  extraordinary  efforts  of 
muscle  on  his  part.  He  felt  himself,  at  length,  completed  for  his 
visit,  all  but  cap  and  swo  :rl  The  sword,  however  absurd  it  might 


NEAR  APPIiU  ACHES  TO  SANS-CULOTTISM. 

seem,  was  still  an  essential  in  bis  present  habit,  which  was  wholly 
military.  It  was  still  justified,  in  use,  by  the  unsettled  condition 
of  the  country,  and  we  must  not  be  surprised  to  sec  him,  on  his 
departure  for  the  city,  not  only  wearing  his  sabre,  but  carrying 
ins  holsters  and  pistols ;  and  this,  chiefly,  with  due  regard  to 
propriety  of  costume.  But  we  must  not  anticipate.  To  buckle 
on  his  sabre,  and  don  his  well-worn  coonskin  cap,  was  the  work 
of  a  moment.  The  horses  had  been  already  saddled,  and  were 
in  waiting  in  the  court  below.  The  voice  of  Millhouse  was  heard 
calling,  and  the  heavy  tread  of  himself  and  If  rampton  were  echo 
ing  loudly  in  the  hall.  They  were  evidently  ready,  and  Porgy 
joined  them. 

"  Let's  look  at  you,  cappin,"  quoth  Millhouse,  "  and  see  how 
you're  a-iooking."  And  he  walked  round  his  superior,  scrutinizing 
him  at  every  point. 

"  Your  sktfirt's  /-ether  short,"  quoth  he. 

"Do  you  see  the  blisters  —  the  leather  patches — sergeant?" 
demanded  Porgy,  quickly. 

"  N — o  !"  answered  the  sergeant  slowly,  peering  about  curious 
ly  the  while;  "but  as  you  love  your  life,  cappin,  you  mustn't 
bend  for'ad  the  leetlest,  for  you  aint  got  any  skairts  to  spare. 
Your  gairth  is  so  mighty  big  that  it  draws  up  the  gairments 
monstrous  high." 

"  To  horse  !"  cried  Porgy,  with  something  very  emphatic  in 
his  tones,  leading  the  way. 

"  Stop  a  bit !"  said  the  sergeant,  "  while  I  take  in  another  hole 
m  your  belt.  It'll  better  your  figger  a  leetle ;  though  'taint  easy 
to  help  it  much." 

"  D — n  the  figure  !"  exclaimed  the  indignant  captain,  breaking 
away,  without  suffering  the  intended  service. 

"  Look  you,  cappin,  ef  you  splurges  about  in  that  sort  of  style 
you'll  rt'sk  mightily  the  security  of  all  your  fixins." 

We  shall  say  nothing  about  the  costume  of  the  captain's  sub 
ordinates.  Enough  that  they  partook  of  the  deficiencies,  and 
provoked  the  same  sort  of  embarrassments,  which  we  have  seen 
troubling  their  superior.  They  had  done  their  best  to  prepare 
for  the  eyes  of  the  lady,  and  they,  at  least,  had  no  misgivings 
as  troubled  with  no  expectations.  A  word  to  Tom,  and  another 
word  to  old  Sappho,  who  could  not  sufficiently  admire  the  wonder- 


334  WOODCRAFT. 

ful  dimensions,  the  great  sword,  and  the  fearful  looking  pistols 
of  her  child,  and  the  three  cantered  off  at  a  free  pace,  in  the 
direction  of  the  widow  Eveleigh's.  When  approaching  the 
avenue,  the  sergeant  suddenly  drew  up,  and  entreated  the  atten 
tion  of  the  captain  for  a  moment. 

"  Cappin,"  says  he,  "now's  the  time.  Head's  up  !  Off'cers  to 
the  front.  Oappin  !  It  all  spends  upon  you  now  !  One  thing 
I've  got  to  say  :  a  widow  aint  like  a  young  gal.  She's  got  L\- 
pcrcnce.  'Taint  any  needcessity,  when  you  'tacks  a  widow,  to 
be  guine  all  about  it,  and  about  it.  They  don't  aix  that  of  you.. 
They  onderstands.  'Taint  any  use  to  ride  round  to  the  gate ; 
jest  pull  down  the  fence  and  ride  in.  What  did  I  say  to  you 
afore  ?  A  widow's  jest  like  a  fort  that's  used  to  surrenderm'. 
It's  only  to  summon  it  and  say  here  we  are  to  make  a  breach,  or 
run  over  the  walls.  Jest  show  yourself  ready  to  scale  and  storm, 
and  what  does  the  commander  of  the  garrison  say  ?  Why,  says 
he — let's  make  good  tamns  and  that's  all  we're  axing  —  and 
that's  what  the  widow'll  say ;  but  I  wouldn't  make  the  trt/rms 
too  easy,  cappin.  You're  needing  a  mighty  deal  of  assistance. 
Hold  her  to  it.  Give  her  no  chaince,  and  when  she  finds  you 
ready  to  seize,  she'll  give  in.  She  kain't  help  herself.  Only, 
don't  you  be  mealy-mouthed,  cappin  !  Go  it,  like  a  charge  !" 

Porgy  surveyed  the  speaker  for  a  moment  in  the  most  perfect 
silence.  Then  quietly,  with  a  smile,  lie  said,  clapping  spurs  to 
his  horse  — 

"  Millhouse,  you  were  surely  born  to  be  a  general  i" 

In  another  moment  the  party  was  pacing  up  the  noble  avenue 
of  ancient  oaks  conducting  to  the  mansion  of  the  wealthy  widow. 


THE  SERGEANT   PUTS   THE   CAPTAIN    FORWARD. 


CHAPTER    XLVII. 

THE  SERGEANT  PUTS  THE  CAPTAIN  FAVORABLY  FORWARD. 

THE  plantation  of  Mrs.  Eveleigh  was  one  of  the  finest  and 
best  kept  along  the  Ashepoo.  The  widow  had  been  fortunate  in 
the  circumstances  which  secured  her  equally  against  the  hostility 
of  both  parties  during  the  late  war.  She  had  friends  at  court, 
no  matter  who  was  sovereign  for  the  season.  Her  husband  had 
been  a  popular  officer  in  his  British  majesty's  army,  and,  when 
not  on  service,  had  been  a  favorite  among  his  neighbors.  The 
widow  shared  his  popularity,  possessing,  in  eminent  degree,  those 
qualities  of  character  by  which  he  had  secured  it.  Her  estate, 
accordingly,  had  escaped  that  harrying  process,  by  which  so 
many  of  those  around  her  had  been  devastated ;  and  the  ex 
cellence  of  the  land,  the  skill,  sobriety  and  integrity  of  her  over 
seer  ;  good  seasons,  profitable  staple  (rice)  and  her  o\vu  judicious 
economy,  had  resulted  in  a  constant  increase,  by  which  she  had 
become  one  of  the  wealthiest  persons  of  this  region  of  country. 
She  lived,  during  the  greater  portion  of  the  year,  upon  her  estate, 
and  this  had  been  an  additional  secret  of  her  prosperity.  Her 
presence  had  served,  not  only  to  promote  the  success  but  the, 
charm  and  beauty  of  her  plantation.  Her  fields  were  well  dis 
tributed,  always  kept  clean  and  under  good  fences ;  the  grounds 
were  well  laid  out ;  the  undergrowth  kept  down ;  the  woods 
trimmed  up;  the  groves,  whether  of  oak  or  other  forest-tree?, 
such  as  wooed  the  wandering  footstep,  and  appealed  sweetly  to 
the  musing  fancies.  Long  shadowy  avenues,  on  three  sides,  con 
ducted  to  her  dwelling  which  stood  among  sheltering  clumps  of  a 
growth  extending  far  beyond  all  human  memory  ;  while  the  house 
itself,  of  ample  dimensions,  and  built  in  a  style  at  once  tasteful 
and  simple,  was  furnished  with  all  the  attractions  which,  in  that 
day,  distinguished  the  mansions  of  American  refinement. 

The  morning  was  a  mild  and  bright  one.  As  Captain  Porgy 
and  his  two  companions  cantered  up  the  avenue,  Mrs.  Eveleigh 
might  be  seen,  with  her  son,  sitting  in  the  open  piazza 


336  WOODCRAFT. 

"They're  on  the  look  out  for  us,  cappin,"  said  the  sergeant, 
with  an  air  of  triumph.  "  She's  mighty  airnest  to  see  you,  I  tell 
you.  Now,  cappin,  'member  what  I've  said.  Now's  the  time. 
All  the  signs  is  favorable.  Don't  you  let  the  chaince  slip  through 
your  fingers.  No  man  gits  a.  widow  by  being  bashful  about  it. 
It's  the  bold  heart,  a'ter  all,  that  gits  the  good  things  of  this  life. 
When  the  fruit's  ripe  it's  only  to.  shake  the  tree.  You  needn't 
climb,  but  jest  take  hold,  like  a  man,  with  a  determination  like, 
never  to  let  go,  'till  your  eend's  answered.  That's  all.  Now  go 
ahead." 

With  the  air  of  a  man  who  has  given  the  last  words  of  counsel 
to  a  young  beginner,  when  sending  him  forward  to  the  fight,  our 
sergeant  waved  his  one  hand,  and  sulTered  his  superior  to  ride 
ahead.  Porgy  answered  only  with  a  faint  smile.  lie  seemed  un- 
easy,  if  not  chafed  at  the  pertinacious  conceit  of  his  follower; 
while  Lance  Frampton,  when  ]\Iillhouse  had  fallen  back  and  joined 
him,  took  occasion  to  school  the  veteran  in  unexpected  style,  and 
with  some  warmth. 

' '  Look  you,  sergeant,  'twont  do  for  you  to  be  talking  to  the 
captain  as  if  he  was  a  boy,  and  you  was  his  teacher.  You'd  bet 
ter  be  quiet  now  before  you  make  him  angry.  He  knows  you're  his 
friend,  and  that  makes  him  stand  a  good  deal  from  you;  but  what 
can  you  teach  him  about  fine  people,  and  high  life,  and  the  sort  of 
behavior  he's  to  behave  when  he's  in  company  with  rich  ladies  in 
their  own  houses.  He  knows  more  of  such  people  than  you  and  I 
ever  saw,  and  don't  want  any  education  how  to  do  when  he  gets 
among  'em.  You'd  better  shut  up  now  in  all  these  matters.  I  sec 
he  don't  like  it,  and  you'll  some  day  go  one  step  too  far,  and 
you'll  rouse  him." 

JMillhouse  glared  upon  the  lieutenant  with  mixed  looks  of  sur 
prise  and  indignation.  When  he  recovered  himself,  he  said: — 

"And  don't  I  know  what's  good  for  him,  and  don't  I  see  what's 
needful  to  save  him  from  the  cussed  sheriff.  lie  must  marry  this 
rich  widow,  I  tell  you;  that's  his  only  chaince." 

"Well,  he  won't,  I'm  thinking." 

"Why  won't  he!  She's  eager  enough,  I  see,  to  ax  him  her 
self." 

"I  don't  believe   a  word  of  it;  I  don't  believe  she'll  have  him, 


THE   SERGEANT    PUTS    Till-;    CAI'TAIN     HHtWAllD.  'T 

and   you're  just  doing  wrong  now,  to   put   such  ideas   into  his 
head." 

"She  won't!  —  Lord,  Lance  ?  as  ef  you  had  any  ixperouro  1<> 
know.  Why,  look  what  she's  done  for  him  a'ready  ;  and  look 
at  her  axing  you  and  me  to  come  and  spend  the  day  and  take 
dinner.  Don't  you  know,  as  well  as  me,  that  these  people  never 
yet  axed  people  of  our  sort  into  their  houses,  or  let  'em  set  at 
their  table.  It's  only  bekaise  we're  friends  of  the  cappin  that 
she  axes  us." 

"  It's  because  we  helped  to  save  her  son's  life  and  her  own. 
It's  because  she's  grateful  ;  and  if  you're  right-minded,  you'll 
just  be  qui(it  all  to-day  while  in  her  house,  and  be  respectful, 
and  listen  only,  and  answer  when  you're  spoken  to,  and  just  say 
as  little  as  you  can  in  civility  ;  for  we  ain't  asked  to  be  heard  ; 
it's  only  because  she  wants  to  be  grateful.  Now,  1  must  say, 
sergeant,  you've  too  great  an  ambition  to  be  a-talking.  The  less 
you  talk,  the  better ;  for  though  you're  a  sensible  man  enough, 
in  actual  service,  yet  you're  not  the  person  to  speak  the  scrt  of 
things  that  the  great  people  likes  to  hear." 

"  Well,  I  must  say,  there's  no  mid  to  the  conceitedness  of 
young  people.  Here,  Lance,  you,  only  a  brat  of  a  boy  as  I 
may  say  —  though  a  very  good  one  —  you're  a-teaching  me  and 
me  old  enough  to  be  your  gran'  fayther.  I  wonder  ef  you  \\:>n't, 
some  day,  show  me  how  to  work  my  way  into  my  egg,  by  tell 
ing  me  to  crack  it  at  the  butt,  and  on  the  eend  of  the  table. 
Jest  you  don't  consarn  yourself,  my  boy,  in  this  business  of  the 
cappin,  and  ef  I  don't  help  him  to  git  this  rich  widow,  then  poke 
your  finger  at  my  eyes  whenever  I  goes  to  talk." 

"  Take  care  !  That's  all,  sergeant.  You'll  be  burning  your 
fingers,  some  day,  by  a  fire  that  you  won't  see  till  you're  in  it 
and  can't  back  out." 

The  warning  was  in  low  tones.  The  party  was  quite  loo 
nigh  the  house  to  admit  of  more.  Captain  Porgy  was  already 
lismounting  —  a  performance  executed  with  less  deliberation  than 
tsual,  yet  more  effort.  Let  us  add  that  it  was  successful ;  what  • 
ever  the  peril  to  his  garments,  they  survived  it ;  and  he  proceed 
ed  tr  ascend  the  steps  of  the  dwelling,  conducting  to  the  pinzza 
Youn<*  Arthur  Eveleigh  descended  to  meet  him,  catching  hia 
hand  and  welcoming  him  with  a  warm  and  hearty  grasp, 

16 


888  WOODCRAFT. 

declared  the  impulsive  and  generous  nature  of  the  boy.  Mrs 
Eveleigh  stood  at  the  head  of  the  steps  with  her  hand  extended 
in  \velcome  also.  Her  manner,  simple  and  unaffected,  genial 
and  friendly,  was  that  of  the  accomplished  lady,  well  versed  in 
the  proper  graces  of  society.  Arthur  Eveleigh  remained  on  the 
i  to  receive  the  followers  of  the  partisan.  These  were  wel 
comed  up  also  ;  and  a  gracious  bow  was  accorded  them  by  the 
widow,  when  they  reached  the  piazza.  Here,  they  all  seated 
themselves,  following  the  example  of  the  lady  and  the  captain. 

"  The  day  is  so  mild  and  genial,"  said  the  widow,  "  that  we 
have  suffered  the  fire  to  go  out.  But  you  soldiers  scarcely  need 
a  fire  ;  and  Arthur  and  myself,  since  breakfast,  have  not  felt  the 
want  of  one.  We  have  been  talking  of  you  and  your  brave  fol 
lowers,  captain,  all  the  morning  ;  —  going,  for  the  twentieth  time, 
over  all  the  details  of  that  fearful  day,  from  the  perils  of  which 
you  rescued  us." 

"  Too  happy  you  will  believe,  my  dear  Mrs.  Eveleigh,  in  being 
of  the  slightest  service  to  you,"  was  the  gallant  answer  of  the 
captain. 

"  That  was  a  most  bloody  leetle  skirmage,"  put  in  the  ser- 
gCii.it.  "  Them  rascals  gin  you  a  most  awful  hitch,  ma'am  ;  and 
tf  Uvarnt  for  the  cappin  thar,  there's  no  telling  what  might  have 
happen'd  in  the  long  run.  It's  the  cappin,  ma'am,  that's  about 
ti.e  best  man,  I  ever  seed,  to  fight  for  the  women  folk.  He  was 
born,  I  may  say,  to  be  their  sav'or  and  purtector!" 

Porgy  glared  sternly  at  the  speaker,  who,  fancying  he  had 
,.  ven  making  a  highly  profitable,  yet  delicate  suggestion,  leered 
>'fst  at  the  widow,  then  at  the  captain  while  he  spoke,  with  the 
manner  of  one  who  seems  to  say,  "  I  have  set  the  ball  in  motion 
—  see  that  it  don't  come  to  the  ground  between  you." 

Mrs.  Eveleigh  answered  the  sergeant  with  a  kind  manner, 
*»ying— 

•'  We  owe  him  a  great  deal,  certainly,  sir,  but  we  owe  equally 
our  gratitude  to  yourself  and  your  young  companion.  My  son, 
I  am  sure,  will  always  regard  you  both  as  his  friends,  and  if  I 
do  not  adequately  acknowledge  your  help,  it  is  only  because  all 
language  must  fail  to  do  so.  I  feel  that,  but  for  your  arrival 
ami  timely  And  judicious  succor,  my  son  and  all  of  us  would  have 
Leon  murdered." 


THE   SERGEANT    PUTS   THE    CAPTAIN    FORW/.^U.  C8* 

'That  you  would,  ma'am  !  Them  villains  wam't  a  Lit  too 
good  to  sculp  you  in  the  bargain;  but  they've  got  their  sass  and 
dressing,  and  some  on  'em  will  never  trouble  the  high  roads  of 
this  airth  agin.  For  them  that  got  off,  it's  jest  enough  to  know 
that  the  cappin's  in  these  quarters,  and  they'll  be  mighty  cu'rous 
how  they  keeps  out  of  them.  I  don't  think  they'll  be  the  pus- 
sons  to  break  into  any  henroosts  in  this  part  of  the  country  Ef 
there  was  any  man  in  this  world  born  to  be  the  natcral  protectoi 
of  a  plantation,  it's  the  cappin  thar." 

Porgy  twitched  uneasily  in  his  chair,  while  the  sergeant  pro 
ceeded — 

"  Lawd,  ma'am,  to  think  that  a  pusson  that  can  cut  his  way 
through  an  inimy's  bloody  bagnets,  a  whole  rigiment,  should  be 
so  tender  at  the  same  time,  and  sich  a  purtector  of  poor,  trem 
bling,  dangerous  wimmin  !  To  think  how  a  pusson  that  shouts 
so  furious  when  he's  at  a  charge  —  how  soft  he  kin  make  his 
voice  when  it's  to  a  woman  he's  got  to  speak  !  It's  a-most  won 
derful,  and  not  to  be  calkilated,  the  difference  'twixt  the  same 
man,  when  he's  at  them  different  dealings !" 

Porgy  could  stand  it  no  longer.     He  broke  out  — 

"  Why,  Millhouse,  Mrs.  Eveleigh  will  suppose  that  I  have 
employed  you  especially  as  my  trumpeter,  and  not  as  my  over 
seer.  Shut  up  !  my  good  fellow,  or  speak  of  your  own  valor  and 
your  own  tenderness,  if  you  please.  As  I  have  no  apprehensions 
that  I  shall  be  suspected  of  any  deficiency  when  either  is  needed 
it  is  no  policy  to  insist  upon  them  now,  lest  both  of  them  becomes 
suspected." 

The  widow  saw  the  captain's  uneasiness  and  smiled  pleasantly, 
as  she  said  — 

"  The  problem  seems  to  puzzle  Sergeant  Miller — " 

"  "Millhoitse,  ma'am,  ef  you  please." 

"  Millhouse  —  Sergeant  Millhouse — " 

"  There  was  a  Sergeant  "Miller,  ma'am,  that  b'longed  to  the 
Ponnsylvany  rigiment,  and  he  went  over  to  the  innimy  on  that 
bloody  affair  when  they  wanted  to  sell  Gineral  Greene  —  you 
remember,  I  reckon;  that  time  when  the  gineral  sent  off  full 
speed  to  call  the  old  fox,  and  we  poor  malitia  men  to  keep  his 
oontinentallers  in  order." 

'*  T  remember,  sergeant.     I  am  glad  you  corrected  my  error 


340  W'OOBi  ;;AFT. 

Lt  must  be  an  unpleasant  tiling  to  he  confounded,  even  by  mis 
take,  with  a  traitor." 

"  That's  it,  ma'am ;  you're  sensible  on  the  subject." 

"  Was  there  ever  such  a  bullheaded  monster  !"  quoth  Porgy 
sol  to  i-occ.  "You  were  remarking,  Mrs.  Eveleigh — " 

"  Upon  the  problem  that  seemed  to  puzzle  Sergeant  Mill- 
house,"  emphasizing  the  last  syllable  duly.  "  Yet,  it  seems  to 
have  been  proverbial  that,  the  most  brave-hearted  are  also  the 
most  tender-hearted,  always,  captain.*! 

"  The  effect  has  commonly  i-hown  itself  in  the  number  of  warp 
which  have  been  occasioned  by  the  sex,  Mrs.  Eveleigh.  it  is 
proverbial,  also,  that,  when  all  other  arguments  fail  to  inspire 
the  man  with  the  proper  courage,  you  have  only  to  goad  him  in 
the  presence  of  the  lady  whom  he  most  admires." 

"  Ef  anything  will  make  him  fight,  ma'am,  that  will,"  put  in 
the  sergeant.  "  It's  jest  what  you  sees  daily  with  these  common 
dunghill  fowls.  They  hain't  got  much  heart  for  fighting  at  any 
time,  yet,  jest  let  the  hen  be  nigh,  when  one's  a-coming  ;  and  the 
other,  though  he  run  before,  will  dash  up,  and  Lord,  how  lie  will 
make  the  feathers  fly  !  —  It's  natnr !  and  it  shows  the  valley  of 
the  women  in  keeping  up  a  good  breed  of  sodgers  in  a  country. 
And  I  do  say  that  the  women  folks  had  as  much  to  do  in  making 
our  people  fight  the  innimy  as  anything  beside,  and  all  besides. 
I  'member  well,  when  I  went  out  with  Gineral  Middleton  agin 
the  Cherokees.  Well,  you  know  thar  was  Grant,  with  his  Brit 
ish  rig'lars,  along  with  us ;  and  no  great  shakes  they  was,  I  tell 
you,  in  an  Ingin  skrimmage.  Well,  it  used  to  make  my  very 
blood  bile  in  my  body,  to  see  how  them  red  coats  made  free  with 
our  young  women  at  the  farmhouses.  Why,  rna'am,  they  made 
no  more  ado  of  chucking  the  gals  under  the  chin,  and  smacking 
at  their  lips,  jest  wherever  they  found  'em,  than  I  would  at  kiss 
ing  my  own  wife  —  ef  'taint  ondecent  for  me  to  speak  of  my  wife 
when  I  ain't  got  one,  and  never  ixpect  to  have.  But  that  ain't 
to  pervent  other  people,  what's  more  personable  and  better  off, 
from  getting  a  wife,  I'm  thinking." 

And  here  the  sergeant  looked,  with  a  leer  the  most  significant 
and  complacent,  to  the  captain  of  partisans,  whose  disquiet  was 
duly  increasing.  Mrs  Eveleigh,  too,  began  to  comprehend  that 
there  was  something  latent  in  the  sergeant's  speeches ;  but  she 


THE   SERGEANT    PUTS    THE    CAPTAIN    FOKVVAKL).  041 

had  no  notion  of  his  real  purpose,  and  ascribed  whatever  was 
queer  in  his  manner  and  words,  to  some  eccentricity  of  character. 
Meanwhile,  Arthur  Eveleigh  had  attached  himself  to  Lance 
Frampton,  and  the  two  young  men  had  gone  out  to  the  stables.  v 
The  widoAv  felt  the  cal.  to  be  elsewhere,  but  could  not  leave  the 
parties  at  the  moment;  and  the  conversation  proceeded,,  the 
lady  opening  upon  another  topic  which  was  necessarily  addressed 
wholly  to  the  captain. 

"  You  find  everything  in  disorder,  Captain  Porgy.  You  have 
lieon  a  special  sufferer,  I  know.  You  are  probably  not  aware 
that  I  am  in  possession  of  some  of  your  property." 

"  Indeed  !" 

"  Yes.  As  an  old  friend  of  your  family  and  self,  Avhen  I  heard 
of  certain  bands  of  loyalists  about,  knowing  the  practices  ot 
which  they  were  guilty,  I  sent  over  several  of  my  hands,  and, 
with  the  aid  of  your  servants,  brought  over  to  my  house  such  of 
your  furniture  as  had  been  left  after  their  first  foray.  One 
Grainger  had  been  before  me,  and  had  destroyed  the  family  pic 
tures,  and  made  a  fire,  I  was  told,  of  certain  pieces  of  furniture. 
As  soon  as  he  disappeared  with  his  band,  I  secured  your  side 
board,  a  couple  of  chests  of  drawers,  a  few  chairs  and  tables,  a 
pair  of  fine  old  steel  mirrors,  and  a  variety  of  other  articles,  in 
cluding  knife-case,  with  knives  and  forks,  decanters,  glasses,  and 
sundry  small  things,  such  as  you  will  find  useful.  There  was 
no  plate  that  we  could  find — " 

"  It  was  all  melted  down  in  camp,  Mrs.  Eveleigh.  We  have 
been  living  on  it  in  part — " 

"  Ah  !  I  conjectured  that ;  though,  by  the  way,  the  report  is 
that  your  own  overseer,  Halford,  helped  to  spoil  you,  and  would 
have  effectually  done  so,  but  that  he  was  accidentally  killed  at 
a  great  muster  of  the  loyalists,  near  Coosawhatchie." 

"  He  turned  out  to  be  a  great  scoundrel ;  went  over  to  the 
British  after  serving  a  campaign  with  us.  I  suspected  him  be 
fore  that  event,  and  my  discoveries  probably  led  to  his  treachery. 
But  I  had  not  supposed  that  anything  had  been  saved  from  the 
wreck  of  my  furniture.  My  debt  to  you  increases  every  hour, 
Mrs.  Eveleigh." 

"  By  no  means,  captain.  I  shall  owe  you  a  debt  which  my 
whole  life  could  not  repay." 


342  WOODCRAFT 

"  That's  it !"  cried  Mill  house,  slapping  his  thigh  with  his  one 
hand.  "  That's  it !  I  know'd  it." 

Porgy  gave  him  a  single  stern  look  —  then  turning  to  the 
widow,  said — 

"  Do  not  talk  of  any  debt  to  me,  my  dear  Mrs.  Eveleigh  ;  you 
owe^me  none.  What  was  done  for  your  rescue,  by  myself  and 
my  companions,  would  have  been  done  in  behalf  of  the  poorest 
creature  of  the  country — r" 

"  Let  me  interrupt  you,  captain,  by  saying  that,  in  like  man 
ner,  what  I  have  done  for  the  saving  of  your  chattels,  in  your 
absence,  would  have  been  done  for  any  other  neighbor.  But, 
the  better  course  would  be  to  say  nothing  of  these  mutual  ser 
vices,  however  much  we  feel  them." 

"Edzactly — but  the  feeling! — "  and  the  sergeant  closed. 
The  widow  proceeded — 

"  I  am  rejoiced  that  I  shall  have  you  again  for  a  neighbor !" 

"  And  nara  [never  a]  better  jpwtector  of  wimmen  could  be 
found  !"  quoth  the  sergeant,  with  an  emphatic  slap  of  his  one 
hand  upon  his  thigh.  The  lady  did  not  seem  to  observe  him, 
but  proceeded. — 

"  And  if  in  any  respects  I  can  be  of  service  to  you,  particu 
larly  at  the  present  moment,  you  have  only  to  let  me  know, 
and—" 

"  There's  a  want  of  everything,  I  may  say,  ma'am,  from  plough 
to  shovel.  You  see,  ma'am,  I'm  to  manage  for  the  cappin,  who's 
got  some  of  the  finest  rice  lands  on  this  river." 

"  He  has,  indeed.     I  know  them,"  said  the  widow. 

"  That's  it,  ma'am  !  You're  right !  It's  so  !  I  seed  'em ;  and 
they've  had  a  long  rest.  They'll  bring  «//fired  fine  crops  ;  and 
I'll  make  'em  do  it.  Ef  we  had  your  force  on  them  lands,  now, 
Madam  Eb'leigh,  there's  no  telling  what  I  could  do !  No,  ma'am ! 
There's  no  telling,  'twould  be  so  magnisifent !  But  we've  got 
only  a  mighty  small  force  of  twenty-five  niggers ! — " 

This  was  said  with  a  wave  of  the  one  hand  and  a  twitching 
of  the  mouth,  and  a  turning  up  of  the  nose,  as  if  nothing  could 
be  more  contemptible  in  the  sight  of  the  speaker.  The  air  was 
that  of  one,  who,  born  to  command  armies,  was  reduced  to  the 
necessity  of  expending  his  genius  upon  a  corporal's  guard.  But 
the  widow's  surprise  vras  at  the  number,  not  at  their  insignificance 


THE    SERGEANT   PUTS   THE    CAPTAIN    FORWARD.          313 

"Twenty -five!" 

"  A  second  instance  of  good  fortune,  my  dear  Mrs.  Evel",igh. 
When  I  encountered  you,  I  knew  not  that  I  had  a  negro  in  the 
world,  besides  Tom.  You  restored  me  seven ;  last  night,  my 
fid  nurse,  Sappho,  who  has  survived  the  wars  and  starvation  for 
three  years  in  the  swamp,  came  in,  and  reported  all  her  children 
and  grand  children  as  with  her.  She  brought  them  in  this 
morning,  eighteen  in  number — " 

"  And  who  knows  ma'am  but  there  may  he  a  hundred  more 
where  them  come  from,"  interposed  Millhouse,  dilating  again 
into  great  dignity. 

"  Not  likely !  I  fancy  these  are  all  I  possess,  Mrs.  Eveleigh  ; 
they  are  more  than  I  expected,  and  much  more,  perhaps  than 
I  deserve." 

"  It's  not  onpossible,  ma'am,  that  there's  a  hundred.  How 
should  the  cappin  know  ?  He's  quite  onknowing  of  all  his  sar- 
cumstances,  and  for  that  matter,  aint  altogether  the  best  pusson 
in  the  world  to  be  looking  a'ter  them.  That's  what  I  tells  him. 
Leave  it  all  to  me,  cappin.  He  knows  I'm  right.  He  ecknowl- 
edges  I'm  his  sense-keeper ;  and  I  am,  in  all  business  that 
I/longs  to  the  making  of  a  cr#p — " 

"  In  all  other  matters  too,  it  would  appear.  But,  for  the  pres 
ent,  Millhouse,  suffer  me  to  be  my  own  sense-keeper." 

"  You  kaint,  cappin,  'taint  in  you.  Why,  Madam  Eb'leigh, 
he's  the  most  wasteful  and  perfligit  pusson  in  this  heathen 
world.  With,  perhaps,  not  more  than  a  hundred  guineas  in  his 
pocket,  he  don't  stop  to  throw  one  or  two  on  'em  away,  at  a  sin 
gle  lift,  upon  a  beggar  child,  in  charity  like." 

"  A  hundred  guineas,  sergeant  ?  Why  what  are  you  talking 
about?"  said  Porgy,  indignantly.  "He  has  certainly  the  most 
OT,  erwhelming  imagination  !  He  has  converted  these  eight  or 
ten  pieces  into  a  treasure  !" — With  the  words,  Porgy  drew  forth 
the  few  gold  pieces  which  he  had,  from  his  pocket,  and  exposed 
them  in  his  palm  to  view. 

"  This  is  all  that  I  possess  in  the  shape  of  money." 

The  sergeant  wheeled  about,  indignant  at  the  exposure,  draw- 
ing  up  every  feature  in  vexation,  and  tossing  his  one  hand  in  air 
as  if  everything  were  lost.  The  widow  saw  the  action,  and  be 
gan  to  understand  his  character.  She  looked  to  Porgy  with  a 


844  WOODCRAFT. 

smile.  He  strove  to  smile  in  reply,  but  the  effort  was  a  feebl« 
one,  and  the  result  only  a  faint  and  counterfeit  presentment 
He  was  disquieted  the  more,  as  he  began  to  fear,  from  the  widow's 
looks,  that  she  not  only  saw  into  Millhouse's  character,  but  sus 
pected  his  desires.  It  was,  accordingly,  something  of  a  relief  to 
both  the  parties  when  Arthur  Eveleigh,  just  at  this  moment,  re 
appeared  with  the  lieutenant.  Mrs.  Eveleigh  seized  the  occasion 
to  invite  her  guests  to  take  refreshment,  and  led  the  way  wi 
th  cm  into  the  dwelling.  As  Porgy  followed,  Millhouse  nudged 
him  with  his  elbow. 

"  How  could  you  do  it  ?"  he  murmured — :"  Show  jest  that  lee- 
tie  heap  when  I  was  a-spreading  you  out  ?" 

"  Pshaw,  fool !"  was  the  rnuftcred  thunder  which  saluted  the 
sergeant  in  reply,  the  captain  fiercely  pressing  forward,  and 
completely  covering  the  entrance  as  he  did  so. 

"Fool!"  growled  the  sergeant  to  himself.  "Well,  that's  for 
sarving  a  pusson  what  don't  desarve  it." 

"  Here  is  some  old  Madeira,  captain,  and  some  Jamaica. 
Please  show  the  way  to  your  friends  —  my  son  does  not  drink." 

"Why,  ma'am,"  quoth  Millhouse,  possessing  himself  of  a 
beaker,  and  approaching  the  widow  —  "you  don't  mean  to  let 
the  young  man  go  without  a  sodger's  edication." 

"  His  father  was  a  soldier,  sir,  yet  it  was  his  dying  injunction 
that  Arthur  should  never  drink." 

"  Wc$,  that's  mighty  strange,  I  swow  !  'Twouldn't  ha'  done 
in  our  sarvice,  where  the  only  way  to  forgit  that  you  had  noth 
ing  to  eat,  was  to  git  r'yal  drunk  on  what  you  had.  Here's 
your  health,  ma'am,  and  my  sarvice  to  you,  ma'am,  for  ever.'1 

The  lady  bowed,  and  Porgy,  having  refreshed  himself  with 
such  a  glass  of  Madeira  as  he  had  not  often  enjoyed  for  years, 
withdrew,  at  a  motion  from  Mrs.  Eveleigh,  to  an  adjoining  room. 

"Why,  whar's  the  cappin!"  cried  Millhouse,  who  had  been 
lingering  over  his  liquor. 

•'And  whar's  the  widow,  too?"  looking  around  him.  Young 
Arthur  stared  at  this  familiarity,  but  his  glance  was  not  re 
marked  by  the  speaker,  "Ah!  I  see!"  he  continued,  with  a 
chuckle.  "  All's  right !  Lawd,  ef  people  only  had  the  sense  tc 
see  the  thing  what's  afore  'em." 

"What  did  you  say,  sir!"  said  young  Arthur,  addressing  oai 


THE    SELtGKANT    TUTS    T11K    CAl'TALN    FORWARD. 

soliloquist — and  evidently  somewhat  dubious  that  there'  was 
something  offensive'  in  what  he  had  spoken  ;  forming  this  con 
jecture  rather  from  the  expression  of  Millhouse's  face  than  from 
anything  in  his  words. 

"  Oh  !  it's  you,  young  master !  So,  you're  not  to  drink  while 
you  live  !  Well,  to  a  man  whose  nater  is  usen'd  to  the  thing, 
like  mine,  that  would  be  mighty  hard  !  But  yon  don't  feel  the 
hardship  yit ;  and  you're  young.  But  it's  a  darn'd  sight  hotter, 
let  me  tell  you,  never  to  Tarn  to  like  it,  than  to  long  for  it  arter- 
wards  when  it's  not  to  be  got.  That's  a  feeling,  let  me  tell  yon, 
for  I've  had  it,  jest  as  much  like  the  devil  having  you  on  an 
eend  and  no  help  for  it,  as  anything  on  this  etarnal  airth.  But, 
Lord,  to  know  as  how  you  kaint  drink  makes  me  a  leetle  thirsty, 
and  ef  it's  your  pleasure,  I'll  score  me  down  two." 

"  If  you  please,  sir,"  answered  the  young  man ;  an  assent  for 
which  the  veteran  did  not  wait.  He  had  already  prepared  the 
Jamaica.  Lifting  the  draught  which  he  had  'mixed,  he  pointed 
to  Lance  Frampton —  "Now,"  said  he  —  "thar's  one  that  makes 
his  own  law  agin  liquor.  He  won't  taste  a  bit,  but  only  to  pleas 
ure  company,  and  then  he  takes  it  most  like  as  ef  'twas  physic. 
There's  something  wrong  in  one's  natur,  when  you  see  that,  It's 
a  sign  he  aint  got  nateral  good  taste  and  good  sense.  And  he 
aint.  He's  good  at  a  scout  and  he  kin  shoot  like  blazes,  rifle  or 
Ingin  bow;  and  he's  not  afear'd  of  Samson  and  Zebeedee,  the 
Philistians;  but,  Lord,  that's  all;  lie  aint  the  sense;  he  kaint 
soe;  kaint  see  some  things  when  they're  jest  onder  his  nose,  and 
a'  axir^g  him  to  look  and  be  satisfied." 

Frampton  laughed,  and  Arthur  Eveleigh  followed  his  example. 
The  latter  now  began  narrowly  to  consider  Millhouse  as  a  study. 
The  sergeant,  finding  "that  he  had  secured  attention,  strode  the 
floor,  glass  in  hand,  sipping  and  dilating  as  he  went.  At  last, 
finishing  his  glass,  he  said  to  Arthur: — 

•'Your  ma !  she's  out  with  the  cappin  somewhere,  eh  !  They've 
got  some  sly  talking  to  do  together?" 

There  was  a  grin  on  his  face  as  he  spoke,  which  young 
Eveleigh  could  not  comprehend,  and  which  he  did  not  by  any 
means  relish.  He  simply  bowed  affirmatively. 

"Ila!"  said  Millhouse  laying  his  one  hand  on  the  youth's 
shoulder, — "  thecapphi's  the  man  to  show  you  fine  things.  He's 


346  WOODCRAFT. 

a  mo-st  wonderful  man,  and  you'll  1'arn  to  like  him  famous,  —  t 
love  him  I  may  say — to  love  him  as  ef  he  was  a  born  friend,  and 
brother,  an  uncle,  and  a  son, — as  ef  he  was  your  own  born  father. 
Eeny  young  man  on  this  airth  might  be  happy  to  have  him  for 
a  father!" 

"Is  he  drunk?"  queried  Arthur,  when  he  and  Lance  again  got 
out  together,  which  they  did  soon  after. 

"No!"  said  the  other  —  "it's  only  a  strange  way  he's  got  of 
talking  foolish  things  —  he  don't  know  much  what." 


CHAPTER   XLVIII. 

PORGY  FINDS  A  BANKER. 

THE  widow  motioned  the  captain  to  a  seat,  and  took  one  neai 
him.  Her  manner  was  full  of  the  sweetest  frankness,  and  an 
easy  familiarity.  With  a  smile,  as  soon  as  he  had  seated  himself, 
che  said  — 

"  Captain  Porgy,  I  am  about  to  take  a  liberty  with  you,  which 
you  must  excuse  on  the  score  of  old  acquaintance,  near  neigh 
borhood,  the  interest  I  feel  in  your  prosperity,  and  the  gratitude 
which  I  owe  you  for  the  great  service  which  you  have  so  lately 
rendered  me." 

"Do  not  speak  of  that,  Mrs.  Eveleigh " 

"  Oh !  but  I  must  speak  of  it,  captain,  in  some  degree  to  justi 
fy  myself,  if  only  to  myself,  for  the  freedom  which  I  take  with 
you." 

"Ah!  madam, "with  a  courtly  bow  and  expressive  smile,  "you 
can  have  no  sufficient  idea  of  the  extent  of  your  own  privileges 
where  I  am  concerned  " 

"Thank  you,"  answered  the  lady,  quietly;  "I  am  disposed 
to  presume  upon  them,  and  will  say  what  I  have  to  deliver 
without  further  apologies." 

*'  Pray  do  so,  my  dear  madam." 


PORGY  FINDS  A  BANKER.  347 

"Briefly,  then,  captain,  I  am  not  ignorant  of  tlie  einbarmss- 
ments  which  environ  you,  and  the  difficulties  in  the  way  of  your 
success.  I  know  how  much  you  have  been  a  loser  by  the  war, 
and  how  great  were  your  obligations  before  the  war  began." 

"Ah  !  madam,  do  not,  I  pray,  remind  me  how  greatly  I  have 
been  the  profligate." 

"  I  will  not,  unnecessarily.  You  have  only  committed  a  too 
common  error  of  our  people  in  these  parishes  ;  allowing  hospital 
ity  and  good  fellowship  to  fling  prudence  out  of  the  windows. 
Of  course,  you  have  to  pay  the  usual  penalties;  but  it  is  due  to 
you  that  your  friends  should  see  that  you  do  not  suffer  too  greatly. 
At  this  moment,  what  is  left  to  you  of  your  property  can  only 
be  made  of  profit  to  you,  by  the  help  of  a  little  ready  money  ; 
and  of  this  commodity  I  suspect,  you  have  not  been  able  to  find 
enough  in  the  army  chest  of  General  Marion  to  pay  up  your  ac 
count  against  the  country.  You  have  got  but  little  pay  at  the 
close  of  the  war." 

'Not  a  copper,  ma'am!  A  few  guineas, —  as  you  have  seen 
—  tbe  loan  of  a  friend,  enough  to  pay  my  way  for  a  week  in  the 
city " 

"I  thought  so.  Now  you  will  want  supplies  for  the  plantation : 
clothes  for  the  negroes  ;  provisions,  utensils;  a  thousand  things 
which  it  should  be  your  policy  to  buy/br  cash,  at  this  moment 
when  money  is  scarce,  and  the  stock  in  the  city  is  necessarily 
large.  With  provisions,  I  can  supply  you  on  an  easy  credit ; 
implements  and  utensils  for  working  the  crop,  I  can  lend  you  for 
present  use  ;  I  have  a  wagon  to  spare  you  for  a  season ;  and — " 

"Ah  !  my  dear  madam,  you  overwhelm  me!" 

"  Hear  me  out,  captain  !  With  all  these  things  I  can  supply 
you  without  the  slightest  inconvenience  myself;  nay,  driving  a 
good  bargain  with  you  all  the  while.  Oh  !  you  wrill  see  that  T 
am  sufficiently  selfish.  True,  I  can  lend  you  second-hand  ploughs 
and  shovels,  hoes  and  axes,  cart  and  wagon;  but  I  mean  to  sell 
you  corn  and  bacon  at  a  good  price — " 

"  But  the  pay  !" 

"  Oh !  I  know  you  have  no  money,  but  you  have  credit — " 

"  I  don't  know—" 

"Yes,  you  have  ;  with  me,  at  least,  captain,  and  you  must  use 
it  You  shall  have  corn  and  fodder,  rice  and  bacon,  on  loan,  or 


348  WOODCRAFT. 

on  a  credit,  as  you  think  proper.  If  you  make  a  good  crop  this 
season,  return  me  what  you  borrow,  if  you  can  ;  if  not,  you  shall 
pay  me,  wlicn  ahlc.t  at  the  present  rates  for  these  articles." 

"  You  are  very  indulgent,  my  dear  madam,  but — " 
'  Hear  me  a  little  farther.  I  must  have  no  '  buts.'  You  will 
need  money  in  the  city.  You  might  borrow  it  there,  possibly  ; 
though  that  is  very  doubtful  at  this  moment.  But  it  is  fortunate 
that  T  can  help  you  to  a  sum  adequate  to  your  necessities  and 
wants." 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Eveleigh — 

"  Stop,  captain,  let  me  do  the  talking  for  awhile,  if  only  in  the 
assertion  of  my  feminine  privilege.  Wait  till  I  confess  to  the  ex 
haustion  of  my  budget,  and  you  can  then  proceed  to  show  the 
contents  of  yours.  I  have  some  money  not  only  to  spare,  but 
some  that  I  desire  to  lend.  I  wish  it  out  at  interest.  I  wish  it 
safely  invested.  It  is  no  great  deal,  yet  I  should  not  like  to  lose 
it.  It  will  be  safe  in  your  hands.  I  can  let  you  have  five  hun 
dred  guineas." 

Porgy's  face  saddened.  His  head  drooped  into  his  palms.  For 
a  moment  he  was  silent.  Then  raising  his  head,  he  said — 

"  This  is  a  great  kindness,  Mrs.  Eveleigh,  which  is  more  pre 
cious  to  me  by  far  than  the  possession  of  all  your  wealth.  It 
touches  me,  my  dear  madam,  to  the  soul.  It  takes  from  ine  the 
power  to  answer.  How  shall  I  answer  —  how  declare  my 
thoughts,  my  thanks,  my  gratitude — " 

"  It  is  my  turn  now  to  employ  your  own  language.  Not  a 
word  of  gratitude.  Let  us  speak  of  this  only  in  the  way  of  bu 
siness.  It  is  a  business  transaction  simply.  I  have  money  to  put 
out  at  interest,  and  you  would  borrow  money.  You  shall  have 
mine — " 

"  Here,  again,  my  dear  madam,  I  must  falter.  I  certainly  do 
need  money,  but  it  will  be  at  the  lender's  peril  that  he  lends.  1 
have  no  security  to  offer." 

"  What!  With  one  of  the  best  rice-plantations  along  the  river, 
and  twenty-five  negroes  ?" 

"  Ah  !  madam,  you  know  not  half  of  my  ill-fortune.  You  do 
not  know  that  my  plantation  is  mortgaged  to  a  voracious  credi 
tor,  for  thrice  its  value,  and  that  this  mortgage  pressed,  at  this 
juncture,  will  swallow  every  negro  that  I  own." 


PORGT    FINDS    A    BANKER.  349 

"  I  know  the  whole  —  the  worst !  I  know  that  you  are  at  the 
mercy  of  one  M'Kewn,  a  person  who  is  supposed  to  show  no 
mercy  if  a  .selfish  policy  prompts  the  other  way  ;  I  know  that  he 
has  a  lien  upon  your  plantation,  to  a  far  greater  amount  than  the 
place  will  sell  for ;  hut  I  also  understand,  captain,  that  he  has  no 
lien  upon  your  negroes — " 

"  Ah  !  madam,  how  is  that  V 

"  These  are  not  mortgaged.  They  will  become  liable  for  your 
debt  to  M'Kewn  should  he  obtain  a  judgment  against  you,  and  a 
part  of  my  scheme  is  to  make  you  indebted  to  me,  that  we  may 
save  these  negroes  from  him.  You  shall  borrow  my  money,  buy 
my  corn  and  bacon,  and  give  me  a  mortgage  upon  the  negroes, 
which  shall  at  all  events  secure  them  from  him." 

"  You  are  my  saving  angel.  By  Jove,  my  dear  madam,  you 
take  me  from  out  of  the  depths.  I  have  been  desponding,  in 
the  very  slough  of  despair,  for  a  week  past.  You  hold  me  up 
by  the  locks  while  drowning.  I  accept  your  offer.  Now  that  1 
can  give  you  seciirity,  I  will  take  your  loan.  God  bless  you, 
my  dear  Mrs.  Eveleigh,  you  have  made  my  heart  of  a  sudden 
very  light." 

The  captain  caught  the  widow's  hand,  carried  it  to  his  lips 
and  kissed  it  fervently.  At  that  moment,  he  thought  it  the 
prettiest  and  whitest  hand  he  had  ever  seen.  When  he  looked 
up,  the  widow  saw  the  moisture  in  his  eyes,  but,  like  a  considerate 
lady,  took  no  heed  of  it.  She  proceeded  without  seeming  con 
scious  of  his  raptures. 

"  This  understood,  captain,  let  us  see  how  the  arrangement  can 
be  carried  out.  In  anticipation  of  your  acceptance  of  my  propo 
sition,  I  had  prepared  these  letters.  Here  is  one  for  Saunders  & 
Dart,  which  will  procure  for  you  five  hundred  guineas,  or  even 
more  should  you  need  it,  on  your  giving  a  mortgage  upon  a  suffi 
cient  number  of  your  slaves,  their  value  to  be  estimated  at  the 
present  market  prices." 

"  You  shall  have  a  mortgage  upon  them  all,  my  dear  madam." 

The  widow  smiled. 

"  Not  so,  captain.  You  forget  that  twenty-five  negroes  are 
w)rth  a  great  deal  more." 

"  True  ;  but  T  prefer  that  they  should  be  secured  to  you,  lest 
they  fall  into  worse  hands." 


850  WOODCRAFT. 

"  But  "  *y  dear  sir,  suppose  I  Avere  to  die,  what  would  be  your 
security  /  My  lien  would  be  a  valid  one." 

"  My  security  is  in  your  son.  You  have  only  to  confide  to  him 
thv?  transaction.  I  have  every  confidence  that  a  son,  trained  by 
you,  must  be  a  youth  of  honor." 

The  widow  looked  at  the  speaker  with  affectionate  gravity 

"  Be  it  so,"  she  said  ;  "  I  will,  hoAvever,  see  that  there  shall  bo 
a  legal  security  which  shall  protect  you,  even  from  my  son. 
Here  is  another  letter  which  I  should  suppose  scarcely  neces 
sary,  since  you,  yourself,  must  knoAv  the  party  to  whom  it  is 
addressed." 

Porgy  read  the  address — 

"  'Charles  Cotesworth  Pinckney  !'  —  surely,  I  know  him  well. 
We  have  served  together !  I  knew  him  well  before  the  Avar." 

"  Nevertheless,  take  the  letter,  and  confide  your  legal  diffi 
culties  to  him.  He  must  save  you  from  M'KeAvn,  if  possible. 
He  can  do  so,  if  anybody  can.  I  have  already  spoken  to  him 
of  your  affairs ;  do  you  get  him  to  reA7ise  your  accounts  Avith 
M'Kewn.  There  are  some  particulars,  in  respect  to  this  man, 
which  moA'e  me  to  suspect  him  of  great  frauds  in  your  case  and 
that  of  other  persons.  At  present,  I  will  say  nothing  of  Avhat  I 
knoA\r  or  suspect ;  but  if  I  could  recover  the  box  which  Avas 
stolen  from  me  the  other  day  by  these  outlaAvs,  I  could  shoAV 
you  a  paper  which,  I  think,  Avould  give  us  a  hold  upon  this 
person,  M'Kewn,  by  Avhich  we  should  compel  him  to  come  to 
reasonable  terms.  But  it  is  needless  that  Ave  should  speak  of  this 
MOAV.  Here  are  the  letters.  I  have  said  all  that  I  have  to  say." 

"  You  have  saved  me,  Mrs.  Eveleigh.  What  woman  would 
ha\re  done  for  me  what  you  have  done  V 

"  Many,  I  trust ;  knowing  the  circumstances,  and  in  the  same 
condition  to  serve  you." 

The  captain  shook  his  head,  and,  taking  her  hand,  said — 

<k  You  are  a  wonder  of  a  widow  1  You  have  the  sonl  of  a 
man  !" 

She  smiled. 

"  I  suppose  I  must  take  such  a  speech  as  a  compliment,  com 
ing  from  one  of  the  masculine  gender." 

"Ah!"  said  he,  "you  knoAA7  Avhat  I  mean!  You  are  not  a  girl 
—  {lot  a  child — not  frivolous  or  feeble.  You  have  a  soul !  You 


PORGY   FINDS    A    BANKER.  351 

have  earv.estness  and  simplicity,  and  these  make  sincerity  of 
character.  You  have  faith,  too,  and — " 

"Which,  by  the  way,  captain,  is  not  often  a  manly  virtue.— 
There,  I  fancy,  is  where  our  sex  has  the  advantage  of  yours. 
You,  perhaps,  are  an  exception.  Here,  for  example,  you  are  wil 
ling  to  trust  me  and  my  boy,  with  all  your  property,  without  any 
security." 

"  Ah,  madam,  I  could  cheerfully  give  it  to  you  both,  did  you 
need  it.  The  pleasurable  feeling  of  sweet  faith  and  confidence, 
and  generous  unreserve,  and  liberal  sympathy,  which  you  have 
this  day  shown  me,  is  more  grateful  to  me  than  any  amount  of 
wealth  or  money.  I  now  know  where  I  can  confide.  I  feel,  too. 
that  there  is  one,  at  least,  who  can  confide  in  me.  We  do  not 
watch  each  other  as  victims,  or  as  birds  of  prey ;  seeking  to  de 
vour,  fearing  to  be  devoured.  Madam,  if  you  will  permit  me,  I 
will  be  your  friend  —  your  friend." 

She  gave  him  her  hand. 

"  No  more  now,  captain  ;  let  us  go  to  the  hall.  I  hear  the 
dinner  signal." 

They  rose  ;  she  led  the  way  out,  but  paused  at  the  door. 

"  By  the  way,  captain,  your  one-armed  soldier  seems  a  very 
queer  creature." 

The  captain  seemed  annoyed,  and  peered  into  the  eyes  of  the 
widow,  as  if  to  fathom  the  extent  of  her  discoveries  or  her 
suspicions. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  a  very  queer  creature.  He  will  say  many 
things  to  surprise  you.  Army  life  sometimes  spoils  a  good  fellow, 
who,  if  he  remained  humble,  might  be  a  favorite.  Don't  heed 
him,  I  pray  you.  He  is  good  enough  in  his  way  —  devoted  to 
me  —  imprudently  devoted,  I  may  say  ;  and  sometimes  officious 
enough  to  save  me  against  my  will." 

"  Surely,  you  should  not  complain  of  such  officiousness." 

"  I  don't  know  !  One  would  have  a  vote  in  these,  matters.  The 
sergeant's  friendship  is  not  sufficiently  indulgent.  Still,  he  is  de 
voted  to  me  —  would  die  for  me,  without  a  murmur,  and  fight  for 
me  to  the  last ;  but  the  scoundrel  wants  to  think  for  me,  also ; 
and  that  is  an  offence  —  if  the  thing  were  not  so  ridiculous — that 
I  should  not  much  tolerate  His  misfortune  is  not  to  know  how 
much  a  simpleton  he  is." 


S52  WOOUCUAKT. 

"  Simpleton  !  I  should  suppose  him  rather  shrewd  than  sim 
ple,"  said  the  widow,  with  a  smile. 

"Yes;  he  is  shrewd  after  a  fashion  —  shrewd  in  all  those  re 
spects  which  belong  to  his  mode  of  life,  and  the  narrow  range  of 
his  intellect.  He  is  shrewd,  like  the  beaver  or  the  possmn  : 
knows  how  to  find  a  shelter  for  his  hide,  and  can  find,  by  instinct, 
where  the  corn  and  acorn  may  be  gathered.  He  will  house  and 
hive,  while  I  should  freeze  and  starve,  perhaps.  It  is  his  misfor 
tune  that  his  sharpness  has  stimulated  his  self-esteem,  as  is  usual 
ly  the  case  with  persons  of  his  class  who  prove  successful.  If, 
for  example  he  should  drive  a  great  bargain  in  rice  or  butter,  he 
would  just  as  lief  explain  the  law  to  Cotesworth  Pinckney,  as 
to  Tom,  my  cook.  Ten  to  one  should  he  see  you  at  the  harpsi 
chord,  he  will  give  you  a  lesson  in  music." 

"  I  shall  be  careful  how  I  afford  him  the  chance." 

"  He  is  only  a  grub,  a  human  grub,  with  a  monstrous  instinct 
for  acquisition  and  saving;  no  more  ;  but  withal  useful,  and  to 
be  cherished  —  at  a  distance.  I  have  suffered  him  to  come  too 
near,  and  familiarity  has  somewhat  blunted  me  to  his  obtrusive- 
ness.  I  see  the  evil  of  it  only  when  he  comes  in  contact  with 
others.  He  has  been  faithful,  however,  and  I  can  not  cast  him 
off.  As  long  as  I  have  a  home,  he  must  share  it." 

"  Fordbam  tells  me  that  he  is  to  be  your  overseer." 

"  He  volunteered  ;  insists  that  he  knows  all  about  it ;  and  has 
set  his  heart  so  completely  upon  it,  that,  even  if  I  wished  it  oth 
erwise,  I  could  not  well  deny  him.  At  all  events,  I  will  give 
him  a  fair  trial  this  season." 

"  Fordham  will  cheerfully  assist  him." 

"  Oh  !  bless  you,  he  fancies  he  can  teach  Fordham  his  busi 
ness.  I  tell  you  he  is  a  simpleton." 

"  But.  he  must  not  be  suffered  to  ruin  your  crop." 

"  Fordham  shall  assist  me,  with  a  hint,  should  there  be  any 
reason  to  suspect  this  danger.  Meantime,  dear  madam,  please 
give  the  fellow  no  heed.  He  will  say  many  things  that  will 
gtartle,  if  not  offend.  But  the  blockhead  means  no  evil. — Will 
you  take  my  arm  ?" 


A   SPOKE   IN   THE   CAPTAIN'S   WHEEL.  858 


CHAPTER    XLIX 

*HE    SERGEANT    PUTS    A    SPOKE    FN    THE    CAPTAIN'S    WHESL. 

As  the  captain  and  the  widow  emerged  from  the  inner  room 
into  the  hall,  they  discovered  the  sergeant  pacing  to  and  fro, 
around  the  apartment.  As  soon  as  he  saw  them,  he  exclaimed, 
almost  loud  enough  for  everybody  to  hear — 

"  Arm  in  arm,  by  the  pipers.     Lord  !  how  the  world  moves  !" 

And  he  advanced  to  them,  bowing,  with  the  most  complacent 
grin. 

"  Pinner  is  a-waiting,  I'm  a-thinking ;  but  Lord  !  there's  some 
business  that  mus'n't  be  hurried.  A  man  must  take  his  time, 
ma'am,  in  some  things,  even  though  the  roast-beef  is  a-cooling  on 
the  dish.  Eh,  cappin!" 

And,  wheeling  to  leeward  of  the  captain,  as  he  spoke,  he 
thrust  the  stump  of  his  game-arm  into  the  ribs  of  his  superior. 
Porgy  turned  quickly,  and  gave  the  subordinate  a  look  speaking 
daggers ;  but  the  other  only  grinned. 

"  All  right,  I  see  !"  said  he,  "  thar's  the  track.  Go  ahead  !  — 
Dinner  below  !  I've  been  down  a'ready  to  see  how  it's  laid  out. 
Things  look  mighty  nice.  Good  management  in  this  house. — 
Roast-beef  for  dinner ;  —  a  round  of  corn-beef —  also  !  Tongue  ! 
cabbage !  potatoes  !  Seen  'em  all  in  the  kitchen.  Woman 
cook !  Had  a  talk  with  her.  Good  cook  enough ;  but  scolds 
like  thunder,  and  lays  on  with  a  double  fist  when  the  boy  don't 
fly. — Hem  ! — How  she  kin  laugh  !  It's  a  sensible  woman  that 
laughs  out  free.  Sign  there  ain't  no  vinegar  in  the  nater." 

Such — as  the  widow  and  Porgy  led  the  way  into  the  basement 
—  was  the  running  fire  of  speech  which  the  sergeant  kept  up 
audible  to  all.  The  widow  laughed  outright  as  she  listened,  and, 
though  somewhat  startled  by  the  merry  peal  which  he  heard, 
we  yet  see  that  the  reflections  which  it  provoked  in  the  mind  of 
the  old  soldier  were  not  of  a  disagreeable  nature.  Lance  Framp- 
ton  and  young  Eveleigh  followed ;  the  latter  wondering,  as  well 


8^4  WOODCRAFT 

lie  might  at  tlu.  speech  and  conduct  of  Millhouse  ;  but  satisfied 
to  think,  with  Frampton,  that  he  was  simply  silly  and  with  no 
harm  in  him.  The  dinner-table  was  spread  as  the  parties  en 
tered  the  saloon.  The  sergeant  has  already  given  us  a  notion 
of  the  viands  put  before  them.  The  widow  took  her  seat  at  one 
end  of  the  table;  her  son  at  the  other;  Porgy  occupied  a  skta 
to  himself,  while  the  lieutenant  and  sergeant  took  the  other.  A 
couple  of  liveried  servants  were  in  waiting.  The  lady  herself 
pronounced  a  grace,  and  the  proceedings  began.  Porgy  was  in 
good  spirits.  His  mind  was  somewhat  relieved  of  its  troubles, 
and  the  sight  of  dinner  was  calculated  always  to  give  it  anima 
tion.  The  return  to  well-known  aspects  of  civilization,  so  differ 
ent  from  his  camp  experience,  was  also  a  source  of  unspeakable 
satisfaction. 

"  Ah  !  madam  !"  said  he,  "  I  feel,  as  I  look  around  me,  that  I 
may  once  more  become  a  gentleman.  I  have  been  little  more 
than  a  savage  for  the  last  five  years.  The  camp  makes  sad 
havoc  in  the  tastes  of  a  gentleman.  Rough  fare,  rough  usage, 
the  bare  earth  for  a  table,  lean  beef,  bad  soup,  no  bread,  fre 
quently  no  salt,  and  bad  cooking  —  these  are  enough  to  endanger 
aay  man's  humanity.  Talk  of  patriotism  as  you  will,  but,  truth 
i^  speak,  we  pay  a  monstrous  high  price  for  it  in  such  conditions 
us  we  have  been  subjected  to  in  this  warfare." 

"  But  it  does  so  sweeten  the  heart,  cappin,  when  we  gits  a 
good  dinner  like  this  here,  at  the  last.  Now,  this  is  what  I  calls 
it  raal  good  dinner,  Madam  Eb'leigh.  That  roast  is  done  jest  to 
u  right  brownness  ;  though  I  was  beginning  to  git  mighty  jubous 
that  it  would  be  overdone,  a- waiting  for  you  and  the  cappin.  I 
\\';is  beginning  to  think  that  you  was  a-sarving  the  cook  on  justly, 
Now,  you've  got  a  mighty  good  cook,  for  a  woman.  She  ain't 
cdzactly  up  to  our  Tom,  I'm  a-thinking  ;  but  then  Tom's  a  mer- 
racie  of  a  cook,  and  at  stew,  roast,  brile  or  bake,  lie  ain't  got  his 
match,  I've  a  notion,  in  the  whole  country.  But  your  cook'll 
do.  She's  monstrous  cross  and  ugly.  I  lied  a  talk  with  her  in 
the  kitchen  afore  dinner  —  but  she  knows  how  to  do  a  thing,  and 
the  way  she  makes  the  leetle  niggers  fly,  is  a  sensible  sight  for 
any  man  that  wants  to  know  how  a  nigger  ought  to  be  managed. 
Now,  ef  she  was  about  six  months  under  our  Tom,  he'd  make 
her  fuss-rate." 


A   SPOKE   IN   THE   CAPTAIN'S  WHEEL.  355 

The  sergeant  made  tins  long  speech  while  waiting  upon 
Frampton,  who,  on  public,  occasions,  like  the  present,  officiated 
as  his  carver.  This  duty  was  not  often  needful  in  camp  where 
one  grasped  his  bannock  in  one  hand  and  his  slice  of  bacon  in 
the  other ;  where  the  carver  was  as  frequently  the  broadsword 
as  the  knife,  and  the  fingers  supplied  all  deficiency  of  forks. 
Mis.  Eveleigh  smiled  as  she  answered  — 

"  Old  Peggy  would  scarcely  tolerate  being  sent  to  school  at 
this  time  of  day,  even  to  such  a  proficient  as  the  captain's  Tom. 
She  has  as  rare  an  opinion  of  her  own  merits  as  a  cook,  as  if  she 
had  graduated  with  all  the  honors  fifty  years  ago.  But  I  have 
no  doubt  of  Tom's  superior  merits.  Colonel  Singleton  has  been 
frequent  in  his  praises,  and  Cotesworth  Pinckney  insists  upon 
him  as  beyond  all  comparison  in  a  terrapin  stew." 

"  Pinckney  knows,"  said  Porgy,  "  if  any  man.  He  has  a 
proper  taste  for  the  creature  comforts,  and  has  done  me  the  lion 
or,  frequently,  to  discuss  with  me  Tom's  performances  in  this 
preparation.  But  '  old  Peggy'  needn't  fear  comparison  with 
anybody.  This  beef  is  excellent.  Pray,  Mrs.  Eveleigh,  how 
did  you  save  your  cattle  from  the  marauders." 

"  As  I  saved  everything  else,  captain,  by  having  friends  on 
both  sides  of  the  question.  The  leading  whigs  were  personally 
friendly  ;  while  the  rank  and  position  of  my  husband,  in  the 
British  army,  secured  me  protection  on  that  quarter.  He  was 
intimate,  besides,  with  General  Leslie,  and  this  was  of  great  im 
portance  to  my  interests.  Since  the  general  has  been  in  com 
mand,  I  have  lost  nothing.  The  result,  I  confess,  has  made  me 
somewhat  unpatriotic.  I  supplied  the  enemy  with  aid  and  comfort, 
lint  always,  in  the  phrase  of  the  tradesmen,  for  a  consideration. 
I  sold  cattle  and  rice  to  the  commissaries,  and  always  got  the 
first  prices.  I  thought  it  better  wisdom  to  do  this,  than  make 
enemies  by  refusing,  and  have  my  cattle  driven  off,  and  my 
houses  burnt.  The  war,  accordingly,  which  has  ruined  so  many 
has  made  my  fortune." 

"  Well,  ma'am,  ef  you'll  jest  listen  to  me,  you'll  be  axing  how 
you're  to  keep  the  fortin  !  It's  n  mighty  deal  easier  to  make  a 
fortin  than  to  keep  it.  I  reckon  thar's  few  women  that  kin  keep 
what  they  makes.  It's  for  then  to  find  out  the  right  sort  of 
hands  to  put  it  in  Ef  they  triuj1;;  themselves,  it's  a-rnost  always 


sure  to  slip  through  tlicir  fingers.  All  women  ought  to  have  a 
guardmi,  by  law  and  natur .  And  the  guardeen,  in  course,  ought 
to  he  a  man-body.  Now  the  nateral  needcessity  of  a  woman,  I 
may  say,  jest  so  soon  as  she  gits  old  enough,  is  to  git  a  husband 
A  husband  is  the  only  nateral  guardeen  of  a  grown  woman  ;  and 
when  she's  so  foolish  that  she  herns  and  haws  about  it,  the  law, 
or,  if  thar's  no  law,  the  gov'nor,  the  gineral,  or  whatever's  the 
ofTcer  in  command,  he  ought  to  look  through  the  ranks,  and 
pick  her  out  the  right  sawt  of  a  man.  That's  what  I  say  ought 
to  be  the  way  in  every  well-regilated  family  or  country." 

Having  made  this  significant  and  philosophical  speech,  the 
sergeant  plied  his  fork  in  his  plate  and  gave  his  tongue  a  brief 
respite.  The  lady  looked  at  the  captain,  whose  consternation 
and  chagrin,  apparent  in  his  face,  gave  it  the  most  lugubrious 
expression  ;  she  smiled,  and  her  blue  eyes  twinkled  merrily  ;  and 
he,  unable  to  control  the  sudden  impulse,  laid  down  knife  and 
fork,  and  burst  into  an  uncontrollable  fit  of  laughter.  The  widow 
felt  the  contagious  influence  and  yielded  to  it.  She  laughed 
with  the  frank,  hearty,  impulsive  spirit  of  girlhood.  Arthur 
Eveleigh  looked  at  both  bewildered ;  but  Lance  Frampton, 
catching  faint  glimpses  of  the  sergeant's  impudent  absurdities, 
and  taking  his  cue  from  his  superiors,  chuckled  in  under  tones, 
as  in  due  respect  for  the  company.  Millhouse  looked  up  with 
astonishment,  fork  in  hand,  prongs  upward,  and  a  huge  gobbet, 
of  roast-beef  hanging  from  them  at  the  opening  doorways  of  his 
jaws. 

"  Well,  I'd  jest  like  to  know  what's  the  fun  about !  I  kain't 
see  edzactly,  but  I  reckon,  now,  it's  something  I've  been  a-say- 
ing,  and  I  don't  see  what  I've  said  so  cur'ous.  What's  it  1  I 
only  said  that  a  grown  woman,  with  a  fortin,  ought  to  hev'  a 
guardeen,  and  I  says  that  it's  only  nateral  she  should  ;  and  who's 
to  be  her  guardeen,  but  a  man-body,  what  kin  take  care  of  her 
and  her  property ;  and  what  man-body  but  her  husband.  An* 
what's  to  laugh  at  in  all  that,  is  what  I  don't  edzactly  see." 

"  That's  good  logic,  sergeant,  whatever  we  may  say  for  the 
philosophy,"  quoth  Porgy. 

"  Well,  I  don't  mean  it  for  any  logic  or  philos'phy  ;  hut  I 
mean  it  for  the  nateral  law  in  the  case  ;  the  straight  fora'd  up 
and  down,  sense  and  the  religion  and  the  reason  of  the  thing 


A  SPOKE  IN  THE  CAPTAINS  WHEEL.  357 

and  if  it  ain't  all  them,  why  1  ain't  fit  to  know  nothing  about 
man  and  woman  in  this  breathing  world,  that's  so  full  of  them. 
I've  sarved,  Madam  Eb'leigh,  in  many  sitiwation.s,  and  that's 
\vliy  I've  Parnecl  to  know  more  things  than  other  pnssons  ;  and 
what  I  say  to  you  that's  strange  to  your  way  of  feeling  and 
thinking,  is,  prehaps,  only  bekase  you  hain't  seed  so  much  of 
this  airth,  and  the  people  in  it,  as  I've  seed  and  know'd.  But 
what  I  says,  I  don't  mean  for  no  offence,  ma'am,  though,  moutlm, 
the  wisdom  of  the  thing  is  what  you  hain't  quite  come  up  to, 
being  a  woman  body,  and  not  having  an  equal  chance  with  we 
men  pussons." 

"  Oh  !  no  offence,  sergeant ;  on  the  contrary,  I  am  very  much 
pleased  at  the  novelty  of  your  suggestions.  They  are,  certainly, 
vather  new  to  me -" 

"  I  reckon'd  as  how  they  would  be,  ma'am.  I  hain't  often 
found  the  pusson,  man  or  woman,  that  know'd  quite  as  much  as 
me,  and  that's  maybe,  bekase  they  hain't  had  the  chaince.  You 
ladies,  hain't  much  chaince  in  this  world  to  1'arn  much  about  it, 
seeing  as  how  you  lives  pretty  much  to  yourselves ;  and  bekase 
when  men  talks  to  you,  they  us'ally  talks  about  foolish  things; 
music  and  dancing,  and  dress,  and  how  people  looks  and  talks, 
and  what  they  says  of  one  another  and  themselves.  But,  I  don't 
mprove,  no  how,  of  that  way  of  talking.  I  don't  see,  bekaise  a 
woman's  a  woman,  that  she  shouldn't  Tarn  to  be  sensible  like  us 
men.  But  ef  what  I  says  is  onpleasant  to  you,  I'll  stop.  I  don't 
mean  no  offence,  no  how,  as  I'm  a  free  white  pusson,  and  a 
sodger  of  liberty." 

"  Surely,  no  offence,  sergeant ;  I  beg  that  you  will  go  on.  I 
like  to  hear  your  views  of  these  subjects." 

Porgy  gave  the  widow  an%  appealing  look,  but  her  eyes 
twinkled  back  with  glances  of  mischievous  merriment.  The 
worthy  captain,  by  way  of  a  diversion,  seized  the  decanter. 

"  Mrs.  Eveleigh,  may  I  take  wine  with  you  ?" 

The  widow  graciously  accorded  the  desired  permission,  an  1 
the  parties  bowed  and  sipped. 

<•  Help  yourself  with  wine,  Lieutenant  Frampton ;  Sergeant 
Miller,  perhaps — " 

"  Mill-7itw££,  ma'am,  ef  you  please/' 

"  Pardon  me,  sergeant — " 


358  WOODCRAFT. 

"  Oh  !  no  offence,  ma'am  ;  only  you  see,  there  was  one  Millet 
of  the  Pennsylvany  Line,  that  was  hung  up  for  lying  and  steal 
ing  and  sich  like  treasonable  offences.  He  was  a  sort  of  Gineral 
Arnold  for  rapscalties,  and  I  don't  like  to  have  my  name  called 
after  him." 

"I'm  very  sorry,  Sergean  ~N[\\\-house ;  but  perhaps,  you  will 
join  Lieutenant  Frampton." 

"Thank  you,  ma'am ;  but  ef  you  please,  I'd  much  prefer  to 
hev'  you  for  a  partner;  and,  ef  you'd  let  me,  I'd  rether  try  my 
liquor  out  of  this  here  diccanter" — touching  the  Jamaica.  "  This 
old  rum  seems  the  nateral  drink  of  a  sodger.  The  wine  is  a 
trifling  sort  of  liquor  that's  made,  I'm  a-tlrinking,  most  for  the 
use  of  women." 

"  As  you  please,  sergeant.  Your  good  health,  sir,  and  much 
happiness." 

"  The  same  to  you,  ma'am.  A  lady  of  your  fortin'  desarves 
all  sorts  of  happiness,  but,  as  I've  been  saying,  thar's  no  safety 
for  the  fortin',  and  I  may  say  thar's  but  leetle  cha/nce  for  hap 
piness,  to  any  grown  woman,  onless  she  has  a  nateral  guardeen, 
and  that  guardeen  ought  to  be  a  good  husband ;  and  ef  I  was 
the  woman,  Madam  Eb'leigh,  to  choose,  I'd  be  for  taking  my 
husband  out  of  the  army.  A  sodger,  who  is  an  off'cer,  is  about 
the  best  of  guardeens  for  a  woman.  He's  naterally  use  to  com 
mand,  you  see,  and  he'll  keep  all  things  straight.  Ef  so  be  you 
was  invaded,  why,  here  he  is  on  the  spot  to  defend  the  post,  and 
rigilate  the  garrison,  and  train  the  troops,  even  though  they  be 
only  nigger  troops;  and  to  carry  'em  into  battle  with  a  hollering 
and  a  whooping  that'll  make  the  inimy  trimble.  Lord,  ma'am, 
thar's  no  telling  the  vartues  of  such  a  guardeen  in  a  family. 
He'll  fight  the  enemy  till  all  smojies  ag'in,  and,  same  time,  he'll 
keep  tlic  garrison  in  right  order,  ready,  at  the  word  of  command 
whether  it's  to  fight  or  run.  I  wish  you,  ma'am,  a  nateral  guar 
deen,  from  the  line  of  the  army,  for  the  pttrtection  of  your  family 
and  fortin'  !" 

Thus  speaking,  the  sergeant  waved  his  glass  to  the  lady,  and 
swallowed  the  contents  of  the  tumbler  at  one  gulph. —  His  eyes 
nexj;  sought  the  countenance  of  his  captain,  and  he  was  taken 
aback  by  the  mixed  look  of  horror  and  anger  whic\i  he  there 
beheld.  He  could  not  understand  the  expression  at  all.  He 


fancied  he  liad  been  doing  the  thing  most  handsomely,  ;ui<l  that 
he  should  thereby  secure  the  captain's  eternal  gratitude.  Ho 
had  somehow  received  the  impression  that  Porgy  was  rather  a 
bashful  person  among  women,  and  he  felt  that  it  was  a  becoming 
duty  on  his  part,  to  help  him  ^orward,  and  make  the  way  cle;.r 
before  him.  That  he  should  have  only  annoyed  and  mortified 
him  never  occurred  to  him  for  a  single  moment;  and  he  did  not 
even  now,  while  he  watched  the  looks  of  his  superior,  fancy  for 
a  second  that  he  had  given  any  cause  for  the  expression  of 
countenance  which  he  saw  him  wear.  He  rather  thought  that 
the  captain  labored  under  some  sudden  indisposition. 

"  Air  you  sick,  cappin  ?  You  look  so.  Somethin's  disagreed 
with  you,  I  reckon." 

"1  should  think  so  !"  answered  Porgy,  with  an  audible  groan. 

•'  Take  some  of  that  Jamaica,"  cried  the  veteran,  pushing  the 
decanter  across  the  table.  "  It's  that  Frenchified  stuff  you've 
been  a-drinking.  I  never  did  hev'  any  opinion  of  that  sort  of 
washy  liquor.  Try  the  Jamaica." 

"Not  a  drop,  sir!"  answered  the  captain,  sternly,  pushing  the 
bottle  from  him.  "  Not  a  drop.  You  cannot  know  what's  the 
matter,  sir:  if  you  could " 

Porgy  arrested  himself.  Speech  and  look  were  equally  tending 
to  an  explosion.  Millhouse  very  complacently  responded  — 

"Well,  tliar's  mighty  few  cases  of  trouble  in  the  body,  that  I 
kain't  know  what  to  do  for.  There's  the  stomach  and  the  liver, 
and  the  witals,  —  why,  cappin,  for  any  trouble  in  either  of  them, 
there's  no  physic  like  Jamaica,  Sometimes  it's  an  inside,  some 
times  it's  an  outside,  epplication ;  but  every  way  it's  a-most  al 
ways  good.  I  don't  mean  to  say,  Madam  Eb'leigh,  that  it's  so 
good  as  Madara  for  troubles  of  women  as  for  the  troubles  of  men  ; 
but  I'd  rether  resk  my  chainces  on  Jamaica,  than  on  eeny  other 
physic  I  ever  seed.  It's  most  powerful  vartious  in  curing  me  of 
my  troubles.  Why,  ma'am,  when  it's  the  bowels,  we'll  say— 

"  Sergeant  Millhouse !"  cried  Porgy,  in  a  voice  of  thunder. 

"  Cappin !" 

"  Silence  in  the  ranks,  sir!" 

"  I'm  shet.  up !"  responded,  sotto  voce,  the  military  martinet,  now 
satisfied  that  the  captain  had  misconceived  some  of  those  sugges 
tions  which  he  had  put  forth  for  his  good.  He  pitied  his  iuexpe* 


3(K  WOODCRAFT. 

rience,  looked  at  him  with  a  respectful  sort  of  sorrow,  then  dashed 
his  fork  into  the  meats  of  his  plate,  and  proceeded  to  give  his 
teeth  double  exercise  for  the  rigorous  inactivity  imposed  upon  his 
tongue.  Meanwhile  Porgy  groaned  again  aloud,  in  utter  vexa 
tion  of  spirit.  He  could  eat  no  more.  His  appetite  was  utterly 
gone,  and  ae1  he  gazed  upon  the  untasted  good  things  before  him, 
which  he  had  no  longer  the  disposition  to  touch,  he  felt  that  lie 
could  never  forgive  the  offender. 

"You  do  not  eat,  captain,"  said  the  widow,  with  interest,  the 
pleasant  light  still  in  her  eye,  in  which  the  worthy  captain  of 
partisans  read  enough  for  his  discomfiture.  He  fancied  that  the 
widow  comprehended  the  whole  game  of  the  sergeant,  and  nat 
urally  dreaded  lest  she  should  suspect  how  greatly  she  had  been 
the  subject  of  their  conferences  and  calculations.  Her  late  gener 
ous  treatment  of  him  and  sympathy  in  his  affairs,  rendered  the 
doubt  trebly  oppressive  and  painful.  At  all  events,  Millhouse 
was  silenced,  though  the  result  was  reached  by  a  process  which, 
sufficiently  legitimate  in  camp,  was  hardly  to  be  justified  at  the 
dinner-table,  and  in  the  presence  of  a  lady.  The  widow  felt  very 
much  like  protesting  against  the  assertion  of  military  rule  at  her 
board,  and  by  one  of  her  guests  ;  and  was  half  tempted  by  the 
spirit  of  mischief  to  set  the  sergeant  again  free,  by  provoking 
him  to  farther  revelations  of  his  peculiar  philosophy.  But  she 
felt  that  the  annoyance  of  Porgy  had  been  sufficient,  and  was 
rather  apprehensive  that,  with  so  blunt  a  speaker  as  Millhouse, 
whose  experience  was  so  various,  and  whose  knowledge  was  so 
universal,  she,  herself,  might  come  in  for  a  share  of  the  disquiet 
which  oppressed  the  captain.  But  she  employed  her  art,  success 
fully,  in  dissipating  the  cloud  about  her  company,  and  Porgy  re 
covered  after  awhile,  sufficiently  to  unite  with  her  in  the  effort. 
It  was  of  no  small  importance  to  the  object,  that  Millhouse  did 
not  lose  his  appetite ;  and  a  full  enjoyment  of  the  feast,  made 
him  soon  forgetful  of  the  tempest  he  had  provoked. 

"  I  hain't  eat  such  a  dinner,  Madame  Eb'leigh,  sence  I  don't 
know  when!"  was  his  grateful  acknowledgment,  as  he  pushed 
away  his  emptied  plate,  and  proceeded  to  replenish  his  tumbler 
from  the  portly  decanter  of  Jamaica. 

"  I'm  glad  that  you've  the  appetite,  sergeant,  which  rarely  al 
lows  any  sort  of  dinner  to  be  unsatisfactory." 


A   SPOKE   IN    THE    CAPTAIN'S   WHEEL.  301 

"  Thank  ye,  ma'am  ;  but  ef  you  think  I'd  lay  in  as  I've  been 
ft-doing,  with  nothing  better  afore  me,  than  the  or'nary  rations 
of  ihe  camp-kettle,  even  with  our  Tom's  cooking,  you're  very 
much  out.  It's  the  good  things  you've  gin  us,  ma'am,  that's  made 
me  dewour  enough  to  sarve  seventeen  red-skins  on  a  scout.  I'm 
a-most  ashamed  to  see  what  I've  been  a-doing ;  pretickilarly  as 
it  don't  seem  to  me  that  other  people  have  been  a-doing  any 
thing  to  speak  of  it  in  the  same  way.  The  cappin  thar'  has 
a-rnost  eaten  nothin'." 

The  captain  eyed  him  with  such  a  glance  as  the  hyena  might 
be  supposed  to  bestow  upon  the  beast  which  had  somehow  de 
prived  him  of  his  prey  ;  but  he  said  nothing.  We  need  not  show 
how  the  rest  of  the  day  was  spent.  The  widow  was  cordial  to 
the  close.  Alillhouse  was  invited  to  see  Fordham  for  what  he 
wanted,  in  his  capacity  as  overseer ;  and  the  details  were  fully 
explained  and  understood,  by  which  the  implements  for  working, 
the  hoes,  shovels,  ploughs,  and  wagon,  were  to  be  transferred,  and 
when,  from  the  one  plantation  to  the  other.  Porgy  had  again 
some  words  in  private  with  the  widow,  a  fact  which  again  ex 
torted  shows  of  undisguised  delight  and  exultation  on  the  part 
of  the  sergeant.  Lance  Frampton  made  engagements  for  a  deer 
hunt  with  Arthur  Eveleigh,  the  two  youths  seeming  equally  well 
pleased  with  each  other ;  and  after  friendly  adieus,  the  guests 
rode  away ;  Porgy  clapping  spurs  to  his  steed,  and  going  ahead 
with  a  haste  which  declared  for  the  continued  irritation  of  his 
mood,  and  which  disquieted  the  sergeant  a  little  to  keep  up  with  ; 
as  he  declared  that,  "  efter  sich  a  dinner,  one  don't  like  to  hurry 
about  n/ther  !"  When  the  two  followers  did  reach  their  leader, 
lie  did  not  seem  in  the  humor  to  notice  either ;  but  Millhouso 
svas  not  satisfied  that  his  exertions  should  go  without  acknowledg 
ment. 

"  Well,  cappin,"  says  he,  "  it's  a  good  beginning  of  the  war 
We've  broke  ground  fairly  in  the  inimy's  country,  and  we've 
come  off  well  after  the  first  skrimmage.  What  a  dinner  she  gin 
us! — And  then  how  lib'ral  she  offered  everything.  Ef  ever  1 
->eed  a  better  chaince  for  a  straight  up  and  down  courtship  than 
this,  I  kaint  jest  now  call  it  to  mind.  She  gin  y;ni  a  mighty  fine 
chaince,  cappin,  them  two  times  when  you  hed  her  all  alone  by 
her  oneself;  and  the  first  time  you  was  with  her,  I  reckon  more'n 

6 


362  WOODCRAFT 

an  hour.  I'm  only  hoping  you  warn't  mealy -mouthed,  seeing 
you  had  to  deal  with  a  widow.  The  cards  was  in  your  hand,  and 
a  famous  game  you  lied  to  play,  cappin,  ef  you  know'd  what  you 
was  about." 

It  was  with  singular  deliberation,  drawing  up  his  horse,  and 
looking  at  the  speaker  with  a  savage  scrt  of  smile,  that  Porgy 
answered — 

"  I  suppose,  Sergeant  Millhouse,  that  you  fancy  you  have 
helped  this  game  wonderfully." 

"  Reckon  I  Lev' !  I  show'd  you  whar  the  trump  cards  laid. — 
I've  put  a  good  spoke  into  your  wheel." 

"  A  spoke  indeed  !  Hereafter,  sergeant,  let  me  put  in  my  own 
spokes,  will  you.  Let  me  play  my  own  game,  if  you  please ;  1 
need  no  assistance." 

And  the  splenetic  captain,  driving  spurs  into  his  horse,  went 
off  at  a  pace,  that  left  the  two  followers  far  behind  him. 

"  The  cappin's  mighty  snappish  to-day,"  quoth  Millhouse  to 
his  companion. 

"  And  a  right  to  be  so.  If  he  had  snapped  off  your  head,  he'd 
have  served  you  right.  What  business  have  you  to  be  meddling 
with  his  courtings,  if  so  be  it's  that  he's  after." 

"  Why,  Lord,  that  was  to  help  him  only." 

"  He  don't  want  your  help,  I  reckon.  He's  a  full-grown  man, 
I  suppose.  Besides,  it's  enough  to  ruin  a  man,  seeing  the  way 
you  go  to  work.  I  don't  know  much  about  women  folks, 
but  I'm  pretty  sure,  any  woman  of  sense,  will  be  mighty  apt 
to  sicken  of  a  man  if  she  sees  he  gits  his  courting  done  by 
another." 

"  Teach  your  grandmother  how  to  suck  eggs.  As  ef  I  didn't 
know  about  the  matter ;  but  that's  your  foolishness.  There's 
no  sich  thing  as  a  woman  of  sense,  you  see ;  they  ain't  made  for 
it.  It's  according  to  nater  that  man  is  to  find  them  all  the  sense 
they've  got  any  use  for.  Talk  to  me  about  wimmen !  Why, 
Lance,  I've  kissed  more  purty  gals  than  you  ever  seed,  and  never 
seed  the  woman  yit  that  I  couldn't  hev'  had  for  the  axing." 

"  Oh  !  that's  your  conceit  only.  You  think  so  because  you're 
so  conceited." 

"  I  know  so,  my  lad ;  and  that's  perhaps  the  reason  jest  why 
I  never  married  ecny.  'Twould  ha'  seemed  like  a  surienderm' 


A    SPOKE   IN  THE    CAPTAIN'S    \VHKEL.  363 

to  the  inimy  at  the  first  summons,  and  I'm  not  that  sort  of 
sodger." 

"  W^ll,  sergeant,"  quoth  the  lieutenant,  "I'm  just  willing  to 
say  that  you're  about  the  conceitedest  person  that  ever  served  in 
the  army  ;  and,  moreover,  I'm  a-fchinking  from  all  you  say,  that 
a  woman  is,  just  of  all  animals,  the  hardest  for  you  to  understand. 
You  haven't  begun  to  know  'em  ;  and  the  way  you  talked  to 
Madam  Eveleigh  to-day  —  you  thought  it  mighty  fine  —  was  just 
such  foolishness  as  ought  to  hang  a  man.  Even  her  son,  Arthur, 
thought  you  was  insulting  to  his  mother,  and  I  had  to  tell  him 
that  you  was  a  very  foolish  sort  of  person,  and  that  it  was  a 
foolish  way  you  had  of  talking  about  things  you  don't  under 
stand  ;  and  he  mus'n't  mind  you." 

"  Y'ou  told  him  I  was  a  fool,  did  you  ?" 

"That  I  did!" 


vi 

"Yes,  indeed!" 

"  Me  a  fool  !  That  I  should  be  called  a  fool  by  such  a  hop- 
o'-my-thumb  as  you  —  you  long-bodied  snipe  —  you  snake  with 
out  a  head  —  you  leetle  eend  of  a  sarcumstance  !  Lord  !  how  I 
could  thump  you  now.  I  jest  feel  like  tumbling  you  from  your 
critter.  Me  a  fool  !  Well,  I'll  tell  that  to  the  cappin.  Ef  I 
don't,  p'int  your  finger  at  me  and  say  'squash!'  Me,  a  fool! 
Mighty  good,  indeed  !  Mighty  good  !" 

Frampton  rode  on  coolly,  never  heeding  him  and  never  an 
swcring.  When  they  reached  Glen-Eberley,  Captain  Porgy 
was  already  there,  alighted,  and  seated,  pipe  in  his  mouth,  in  his 
piazza. 

Millhouse  knew  quite  enough  of  his  superior  to  take  care  not 
to  disturb  him  in  his  mood.  Though  obtuse  and  presumptuous, 
he  had  been  taught  to  observe  the  features  and  deportment  of 
the  captain,  so  as  to  time  his  approaches.  His  recent  blunder 
ings  were  the  result  of  an  unusual  condition  of  elevation,  whiJi 
blinded  his  ordinary  faculties.  But  the  captain's  manner  and 
Frampton's  suggestions  had  opened  his  eyes.  Accordingly, 
specially  avoiding  speech,  he  entered  the  house,  filled  his  pipe, 
and  going  down  to  the  basement  story,  seated  himself  beneath 
the  piazza  where  Porgy  was  giving  voluminous  breath  to  hig 
chibouque.  —  With  no  offences  to  atone  for,  Lance  Frampton 


364  WOODCRAFT. 

forebcre,  in  like  manner,  to  obtrude  upon  the  sultan.  He  busied 
himself  about  the  horses  and  the  negroes,  and  found  employment 
out  of  doors  for  the  rest  of  the  evening. 

Meanwhile,  the  clouds  gradually  cleared  away,  and,  by  the 
time  supper  was  ready,  Porgy  had  recovered  his  good  humor. 
His  bowl  of  coffee  was  enjoyed  with  satisfaction  and  composure, 
and  his  irritation  being  subdued,  he  had  leisure  to  reflect  upon 
the  improved  prospects  in  his  affairs,  which  were  due  to  the 
widow's  liberality.  It  was  not  in  his  nature  to  suppress  or  con 
ceal  his  good  tidings  from  his  companions,  and  when  the  supper 
things  had  been  removed,  Millhouse,  somewhat  humbled,  Framp- 
ton,  as  usual,  quiet,  Tom  and  Pomp  rather  loitering  about  than 
in  attendance,  the  captain  proceeded  to  unfold  his  budget,  and 
put  his  followers  in  possession  of  the  facts  in  his  good  fortune. 
They  were  all  overjoyed.  Tom  was  the  first  to  speak 

"  Hah  !  enty  I  bin  know.  Da's  good  woman,  Miss  Eb'ieigh. 
He  luib  sense.  He  no  like  dem  fool  woman  wha'  don't  know 
how  to  'habe  [behave]  to  gernplemans.  He  hab  'spect  [respect | 
for  gemplemans.  He  hab  'spect  for  me,  Tom.  He  shak'  han' 
wid  Tom.  He  say  '  Tom,  I  yer  [hear]  'bout  you.  You  maussa 
is  my  frien'.'  He's  a  lady,  cbbry  inch  ob  'em.  You  inns'  tak; 
he  money,  maussa,  ef  it's  only  to  'blige  [oblige]  'em,  and  ma,k 
'em  feel  easy.  Da's  it !" 

Frampton  said  not  a  word,  but  he  rose  during  the  captain's 
recital,  came  closer  to  him,  and  when  he  had  finished  his  state 
ment,  grasped  his  hand  and  wrung  it  warmly.  Millhouse,  once 
more  set  free  to  speak,  launched  into  the  most  superb  culogium 
on  the  virtues  of  the  lady,  which  we  need  not  report,  concluding 
with  the  opinion  that  "  sich  a  good  woman,  with  sich  a  fortin, 
ought  to  have  a  giumlmi  out  of  the  line  of  the  army." 

Porgy  only  looked  at  him,  with  half  closed  but  flashing  eye, 
than,  as  if  speaking  rather  to  himself  than  to  his  companions,  he 
s.vid  musingly  — 

"  And  it  is  such  a  noble  woman,  that  1  was  to  select  as  the 
subject  of  a  matrimonial  speculation!" 

"  And  who  better  ?"  quoth  Millhouse.  "  She's  the  very  sawt 
of  pusson.  There's  no  speculating  upon  a  poor  pusson.  Wlmr's 
the  profit  in  it  1  And  ef  the  pusson's  rich,  but  happens  to  be 
mean  and  stingy,  why,  Lord !  even  the  money  ain't  guiue  to 


A    SPOKE   IN    THE    CAPTAIN'S    WHEEL.  865 

make  it  agreeable  to  liev'  transactions  with  her.  But  when  the 
woman  has  the  good  heart  and  the  good  fortin  together,  then  it's 
a  good  speckilation.  By  thunder,  cappin,  now's  the  time  to 
make  a  push  into  that  market,  and  buy  out  the  business.  But 
I  reckon  you  hev'n't  been  sleeping  all  the  time  you  two  was  to 
gether." 

"  Sergeant  Millhonw,"  said  Porgy,  with  great  composure, 
"  you  are  no  doubt,  in  some  things,  as  shrewd  and  sensible  a  per- 
fcon  as  any  I  know,  but  I  think  there  are  a  few  subjects  upon 
which  you  had  better  not  expend  your  time  and  labor." 

"  Which  on  'em,  cappin  1     I'd  like  to  know." 

"  I  think,  for  example,  that  when  you  go  to  heaven,  which  ] 
trust  you  will  do  some  day — " 

"^Arter  a  time,  'cappin  ;  but  Lord  love  you,  I  ain't  in  any  hurry 
to  leave  this  airth." 

"  In  your  own  time,  sergeant ;  but  when  you  do  go,  I  think 
it  will  not  be  altogether  proper  to  undertake  to  show  the  angels, 
Gabriel,  Michael,  Raphael,  or  any  others  with  whom  you  may 
become  familiar,  in  what  way  they  ought  to  use  their  wings.  I 
have  no  doubt  you  have  some  very  wise  notions  as  to  how  birds 
and  beasts  may  fly  ;  but  the  angels,  perhaps,  have  more  experi 
ence  than  you,  if  not  more  wisdom, ^and  it  will  require  that  you 
should  see  much  flying  done  among  them,  before  you  can  ven 
ture  to  give  them  any  lessons." 

"  Why,  cappin,  I  reckon  you're  jest  a-laughing  at  me  now,  out 
of  the  corner  of  your  eye.  I  ain't  sich  a  bloody  fool  as  to  do 
them  things." 

"  Perhaps  not !  But  when  a  man  is  so  wise  as  you  are  on  so 
many  subjects,  he  is  apt  to  think  himself  wise  in  all." 

"  Well,  that's  nateral  and  reasonable  too,  I'm  a-thinking." 

"  Natural  enough,  no  doubt,  but  not  so  certainly  reasonable, 
my  good  fellow.  If  you  were  suddenly  to  find  yourself  among 
bears  and  buffaloes,  you  might  reasonably  undertake  to  show 
them  how  to  find  their  food  or  prey ;  if  among  snakes,  I  have 
no  doubt  you  could  teach  them  superior  modes  of  beguiling  young 
frogs  into  their  jaws  ;  as  a  dweller  among  hawks  and  owls,  or 
minks  and  weasels,  you  might  open  new  views  to  them  of  the 
processes  by  which  they  might  empty  all  the  hen-houses  in  the 
country  j  and,  teaching  squirrels,  they  might  be  grateful  to  yor 


366  WOODCRAFT. 

for  new  lessons  in  the  art  of  gathering  corn  out  of  the  fields,  and 
tracking  hickory-nuts  ; — but  I  doubt  if  these  capacities  of  yours 
should  entitle  you  to  think  yourself  appointed  to  teach  young 
oysters  how  to  swim,  or  young  angels  IIOAV  to  fly ;  and  I  am 
even  doubtful  how  far  they  should  justify  you  in  an  endeavor  to 
set  yourself  up  as  a  teacher  of  love  and  courtship.  Of  one  thing 
let  me  assure  you,  before  I  stop,  that  if  ever  you  undertake  to 
make  love  to  any  woman  on  my  account,  again,  and  in  my  pres 
ence,  by  the  Lord  that  liveth,  sergeant,  I  will  fling  you  from  the 
windows,  though  the  house  were  as  high  as  the  tower  of  Babel. 
Be  warned  in  season  ;  —  and  now  let  us  have  a  sup  of  Jamaica, 
before  sleeping  for  the  night." 

"  I  told  you  so, — "  said  Frampton,  brushing  by  the  sergeant 
as  the  latter  stood  up,  in  silence,  to  drink  with  his  superior. 

"  Well,  thar's  no  owderstanding  it,"  muttered  the  sergeant, 
after  the  captain  had  retired.  "  Thar's  some  people  so  cross- 
grained  in  the  world,  they  won't  let  you  make  'em  smooth." 

Tom,  the  cook,  had  his  comment  also. 

"Hah!  mass  Millhouse,  you  yer!  Look  out!  when  maussa 
talk  so,  he's  in  dead  airnest !  Ef  he  tell  you  he  guine  fling  you 
out  de  window,  he  do  'em  for  true.  And  you  know,  for  all  you 
see  'cm  look  and  walk  so  lazy,  he  strong  as  a  harricane  when  he 
git  in  a  passion.  Pie  will,  sure  as  a  gun,  brek'  you  neck  out  df 
window,  ef  he  promise!" 

"Thar's  no  onderstanding  it!"  was  the  only  response  of  tin 
sergeant  to  those  suggestions.  "  And  all  the  time  I  was  a-doing 
the  best,— -jest  a  making  his  wheel  run  smooth!" 


THE  BACHELOR'S  EMBARRASSMENTS.  867 


CHAPTER    L. 
THft  BACHELOR'S  EMBARRASSMENTS, 

WE  must  suppose  an  interval  of  several  weeks  since  the  oc 
currences  of  the  last  chapter.  .Meanwhile,  Captain  Porgy,  charg 
ed  with  Ins  letters  of  credit  and  introduction,  has  visited  Charles 
ton  ;  has  ohtained  the  five  hundred  guineas  of  the  widow;  has 
executed  to  her  a  mortgage  bf  all  his  negroes,  with  the  exception 
of  Tom ;  has  procured  and  sent  to  the  plantation  all  necessary 
5upplies ;  has  conferred  upon  the  state  of  his  affairs  with  Charles 
Ootesworth  Pinckney;  has  received  his  counsel;  has  endeavor 
ed,  but  in  vain,  to  see  his  creditor,  M'Kewn,  who  was  absent 
from  the  city,  no  bne  knew  where;  and  has  returned  to  his  plan 
tation,  where  he  has  ever  since  remained. 

During  this  period  his  subordinates  have  not  been  idle;  but 
have  proceeded,  with  proper  energy,  to  the  prosecution  of  affairs 
at  home.  Millhouse,  in  his  capacity  as  overseer,  and  Lance 
Frampton,  as  a  temporary  assistant,  have  stripped  to  their  tasks 
and  done  wonders.  The  lands  have  been  broken  up  for  plant 
ing;  the  negro-houses  have  been  run  up  as  if  by  magic;  rails 
have  been  split,  and  fences  raised ;  and  the  usual  labors  of  several 
months  have  been  compressed  into  as  many  weeks.  The  negroes, 
glad  once  more  to  find  themselves  in  possession  of  a  homestead, 
certain  provisions,  and  the  protection  of  a  white  man,  have  work 
ed  with  a  hearty  will  and  cheerfulness  which  have  amply  made 
up  for  lost  time.  If  Millhouse  was  vain  of  his  prowess  as  an 
overseer,  he  was  not  without  good  reasons  for  his  vanity.  He 
himself  thought  it  a  merit  to  be  boastful. 

"I  likes  to  hear  a  man  brag,"  said  he,  "of  what  he  kin  do; 
for  then,  ef  he  aint  about  the  meanest  skunk  in  all  creation,  he 
must  be  a-doing,  and  a-doing  well,  to  carry  a  decent  face  among 
white  people.  Wanity  is  a  wartue  when  it  makes  a  fellow 
work." 


368  WOODCRAFT. 

And  this  philosophy  Captain  Porgy  did  not  dispute. 

Lance  Frampton  took  special  charge  of  the  buildings, —  saw 
to  and  assisted  at  the  erection  of  the  stables ;  did  all  the  bird- 
ing  and  squirrel  shooting;  prepared  lines  for  fishing;  and,  with 
so  much  success  did  he  pursue  his  field-sports,  that  it  was  very 
rare  indeed  that  the  family  went  without  fresh  meat  for  dinner. 
In  these  pursuits,  Captain  Porgy  took  sufficient  part.  Squirrels 
were  bagged  in  abundance;  once  or  twice,  hunting  with  Artlnn 
Kveleigh's  hounds,  a  stout  buck  was  tumbled  in  his  track,  and. 
on  one  occasion,  a  brown  bear  was  badgered  in  the  swamps  with 
so  much  ingenuity,  that  he  finally  rendered  up  his  hide  in  return 
for  a  few  charges  of  rifle  bullets  and  gunpowder.  Young 
Eveleigh  found  his  new  associates  at  Glen-Eberley  particularly 
good  company,  and  was  hunting,'  or  birding,  with  Porgy  or 
Frampton,  or  both,  every  other  day  in  the  week.  At  his  com 
ing,  always,  the  sergeant  could  be  heard  to  Avhistle  with  exulta 
tion;  be  seen  to  loll  out  his  tongue  as  if  in  the  enjoyment  of  a 
sweet  morsel,  and  to  wave  his  one  arm  abroad,  as  if  grasping 
some  very  enviable  possession.  Sometimes  he  ventured  to  mut 
ter,  in  Porgy 's  hearing,  the  hopes  which  were  stiH'*active  in  him, 
in  phrases  peculiar  to  himself;  —  as  for  example — 

"The  poor  young  fellow  feels  the  want  of  u  p^ppy!  It's  a 
sad  needcessity,  ef  so  be  he  kaint  find  the  right  one.  But  his 
nose  p'ints  out  the  right  way.  He  looks  straight  to  the  line  of 
the  army.  Well!  I  wont  say  much;  —  but  what's  to  be  will 
be.  The  Lord's  over  all,  and  he'll  bring  all  things  straight  in 
time." 

Porgy,  at  such  speeches,  would  give  him  a  look  of  warning, 
which  usually  arrested  his  eloquence  .before  it  broke  bounds. 

Meanwhile,  the  visits  were  not  all  on  one  side.  Porgy  rode 
over  to  the  widow's,  on  an  average  twice  a  week,  dining  there 
usually  when  he  went.  He  did  not  ask  the  companionship  of 
his  followers,  on  such  occasions,  nor  did  they  receive  any  more 
invitations  from  the  lady.  Millhouse  was  content.  If  he  was 
not  to  be  permitted  to  assist  in  the  courtship,  he  was  quite  wil 
ling  to  be  absent  from  the  scene  of  it.  He  would  sometimes 
mutter  his  apprehensions  to  Frampton,  that  things  did  not  ad 
vance  with  sufficient  rapidity,  and  that  his  services  would  yet  be 
needed.  On  which  occasions,  the  lieutenant,  reiittering  what 


THT  BACHELOR'S  EMBARRASSMENTS.      369 

had  been  said  by  Porgy,  would  suggest  to  the  overseer,  the 
propriety  of  his  making  an  early  call  upon  the  arch-angels, 
Gubriel,  Michael  and  Raphael,  to  see  how  they  were  getting 
on:  —  a  suggestion  that  usually  sent  Millhou.se  to  the  right-about, 
At  the  widow  Eveleigh's,  Porgy  was  received  on  the  most 
friendly  and  familiar  footing.  He  was  well  read,  of  contemplative 
mind,  had  been  trained  in  good  society,  and,  though  somewhat 
wanting  in  the  precision  of  the  courtier,  in  consequence  of  the 
loose,  free  and  easy  manner  which  he  had  acquired  in  camp,  he 
was  yet  capable  of  curbing  himself,  when  the  impulse  strove 
within  him;  and  this  done,  he  could  minister  to  the  social  tastes 
of  his  fair  companion,  with  an  ease,  grace,  and  vivacity,  that 
made  him  always  a  very  grateful  visitor.  Mrs.  Eveleigh  was 
almost  wholly  free  from  affectations  ;  was  frank  and  ever  gay  of 
mood;  always  cheerful;  always  ingenuous,  and  never  labored  at 
th'e  concealment  of  her  sympathies.  She  laughed  at  the  good 
things  of  the  captain  and  freely  pardoned  his  familiarities.  There 
was  a  freshness  and  a  salicncy  about  his  peculiar  humor  which 
pleased  her,  and  when  he  chose  to  be  serious,  he  could  rise  into 
provinces  of  thought,  generalizing  from  the  abstract  to  the  fa 
miliar,  and  thus  coupling  the  most  remote  affinities  and  associa 
tions,  in  a  strain  of  expression  at  once  graceful  and  expressive. 
He  quickly  discovered  in  what  respects  he  could  most  success 
fully  address  her  ear,  and  he  naturally  availed  himself  of  his  dis 
covery.  Porgy,  before  entering  the  army,  was  well  read  in 
Shakspere,  Milton,  Dry  den,  and  the  best  of  the  then  current 
English  writers.  It  must  be  admitted,  we  fear,  that  he  had 
also  drank  freely  of  fountains  less  undefiled  ;  had  dipped  largely 
into  the  subsequent  pages  of  the  Wycherlys,  the  Vanbrughs, 
the  Congreves,  the  Wilmots,  Ethereges,  and  Rochesters,  of  a 
far  less  intellectual,  and  therefore  less  moral,  period.  But  the 
taste  of  the  latter  had  not  spoiled  him  for  the  just  appreciation 
of  the  former;  had  perhaps  heightened  his  estimate  of  them  by 
force  of  contrast ;  and  the  fruit  of  his  familiarity  with  both  classes 
of  writers,  was  a  knowledge,  not  then  commonly  possessed  — 
scarcely  now,  indeed, —  of  materials  for  graceful  conversation, 
illustrated  with,  frequent  happy  quotations,  which  particularly 
commended  him  to  a  woman  who  was,  herself,  at  once  refined 
and  intellectual.  We  can  readily  understand  how  interesting 

16*    ' 


370  WOODCRAFT. 

was  the  intercourse  between  tlie  parties,  in  a  region  which 
sparsely  settled,  and  wanting  in  books,  left  so  many  wearisome 
hours,  and  wanting  moods,  whbh  no  plantation  employments 
could  satisfy  or  supply. 

We  do  not  mean  to  say  that  the  widow  regarded  Porgy  in 
any  other  aspect  than  that  of  a  very  agreeable  companion.  But 
we  are  constrained  to  admit  on  behalf  of  the  captain,  that  he 
soon  became  seriously  interested  in  the  widow.  That  he  should 
respect  her  heart,  and  love  it,  because  of  the  liberality  she 
had  shown  him,  was  natural  enough; — but  when  he  came  to 
know  her  mind  ;  the  sweet  graces  of  her  intellect ;  her  quiet, 
gentle,  always  just  and  wholesome  habit  of  thought;  the  pleas 
ant  animation  o."  Her  fancies ;  the  liveliness  of  her  conversation, 
enriched  by  the  a/iecdotes  of  a  very  large  and  varied  experi 
ence,  as  well  in  England  as  America,  he  began  to  admire  her 
on  other  grounds,  so  that  frequent  association  with  her  became 
almost  a  necessity.  Still,  there  was  a  something  wanting  to  the 
perfect  sway  of  the  widow  over  her  admirer ;  something  which  he 
felt,  but  could  not  explain,  or  account  for,  to  himself.  She  was 
a  fine-looking  woman,  "fair,  fat,  and  forty,"  —  but  he  found 
himself  occasionally  objecting  to  "  the  fat."  The  very  fact  that 
he  was,  himself,  too  much  so,  was  enough  to  make  him  quarrel 
with  her  possessions  of  the  same  sort.  He  asked  himself  re 
peatedly  the  question:  "Do  I  —  can  I  love  this  woman?  —  as  a 
woman  ought  to  be  loved;  as  a  man  ought  to  love ;  —  as  she  de 
serves  to  be  loved  by  any  husband,  and  especially  by  me  ?" 

Millhouse,  could  he  have  heard  this  question,  would  have  an 
swered   it  without    a  moment's  hesitation ;    but    Porgy  never 
broached  the  subject  in  his  ears,  and  now,  studiously,  since  tho 
memorable  dinner,  checked  every  approach  to  it  which  the  for 
mer  made. 

"  Yet,"  quoth  the  soliloquizing  captain,  "  am  I  not  shaping 
tliis  passion  of  love  into  a  bug-bear  for  rny  own  fright  and  dis 
appointment?  Does  it  need  that  either  the  widow  or  myself 
should  experience  all  the  paroxysms  and  fancies  of  eighteen,  in 
order  to  feel  secure  of  the  force  of  our  attachment.  Is  it  natural 
jr  reasonable,  that,  at  forty-five,  I  at  least,  should  need,  or  ex 
pect,  to  recall  my  youthful  frenzies,  before  venturing  upon  the 
married  condition  ?  Is  not  the  sort  of  love  which  we  require 


371 

now,  that  which  belongs  rather  to  the  deliberate  consent  of  the 
mind  than  the  warm  impulses  of  the  blood  and  fancy  ?  Ts  it 
necessary  with  us,  that,  in  addition  to  the  cool  conviction  of  the 
thought,  in  favor  of  the  propriety  of  this  union,  there  should  be 
a  nervous  and  excitable  up  springing  in  the  heart,  of  tumultuous 
emotions,  indefinable,  intense,  passionate,  eager — which  reject 
reason,  which  baffle  thought,  which  seem"  to  be  guided  rather  by 
dreams  than  by  right  reason  —  and  which  ask  none  of  the  seen 
rities,  by  which  thought  would  shelter  faith — which  is,  in  fact, 
a  faith  itself,  beyond  any  of  the  help  or  the  convictions  of  the 
understanding'?  My  judgment  is  perfectly  satisfied  with  the 
widow' Eveleigh.  She  is  vastly  superior,  as  a  lady  —  as  a  wo 
man  of  sense  and  sweetness  —  grace  and  intelligence  —  to  any 
that  I  know.  She  thinks  well  and  kindly  of  me ;  that  is  evi 
dent.  We  harmonize  admirably  together.  She  listens  with 
pleasure  to  my  speech,  and  I  am  willing  to  listen  gladly  when 
she  speaks  in  turn.  She  is  a  noble-looking  woman  —  a  little  too 
stout,  I  admit  —  but  of  fine  figure  nevertheless,  and  a  face  that 
is  at  once  sweet  and  commanding.  She  has  wealth ;  but,  by 
Jupiter,  I  reject  that  as  a  consideration.  Her  money  shall  not 
enter  into  the  estimate.  Her  other  attractions  are  surely  quite 
sufficient.  Yet,  are  they  sufficient  ?  Am  I  satisfied  ?  Why  do 
I  ask  myself  so  doubtingly  whether  I  can  bind  myself  to  her, 
for  life,  and  feel  no  lack,  no  deficiency — no  weight  in  the  bonds 
I  carry?" 

The  captain  ended  the  soliloquy  with  a  sigh.  He  strode  the 
chamber  impatiently,  and  paused  finally  before  the  fireplace,  in 
which  the  lire  smouldered  rather  than  gave  forth  light  and  heat. 
At  that  moment  the  form  of  the  widow  Griffin  rose  vividly  be 
fore  his  eyes. 

"  Why  is  it?"  he  muttered  to  himself,  "that,  whenever  I  try 
to  meditate  this  question  of  the  widow  Eveleigh,  the  image  of 
Mrs.  Griffin  starts  up  before  me.  She  is  a  fine  woman  undoubt 
edly  ;  good,  gentle,  humble,  affectionate ;  and  has  no  doubt 
been  very  beautiful; — is  still  very  sweet  to  look  upon;  —  but 
she  can  not  compare  with  the  widow  Eveleigh  !  She  is  not  wise  j 
not  learned  ;  is  really  very  ignorant ;  has  no  manners,  no  elo 
quence  ;  is  simply  humble  and  adhesive;  —  she  is  rather  thin 
than  stout,  tlu<.  is  true,  her  figure  is  good  ;  —  she  has  still  a  face 


of  exquisite  sweetness,  but  she  is  no  associate  for  me  ;  — she  ha* 
no  resources,  no  thoughts,  no  information  ;  has  seen  nothing, 
knows  nothing  !  They  are  not  to  be  spoken  of  in  the  same 
moment.  The  widow  Eveleigh  is  far  superior  in  all  but  simply 
personal  respects !  Yet,  Griffin  does  move  about  with  a  de 
lightful  grace ;  so  soft,  so  modest.  In  household  affairs  she  is 
admirable.  I  don't  know  that  I  ever  saw  Mrs.  Eveleigh  attend 
ing  to  household  affairs  at  all.  Her  servants  are  numerous  and 
well  trained.  She  has  only  to  command.  Yet,  on  a  small  scale, 
considering  her  inadequate  resources,  it  is  wonderful  with  what 
skill  Griffin  manages ;  with  how  little  noise,  how  little  effort. 
Poor  woman,  what  a  lonesome  life  she  leads.  It  is  abominable 
that  I  have  only  been  to  see  her  once  since  I  have  been  from 
town.  I  will  certainly  ride  over  to-morrow." 

And  he  did  so  ;  and  he  dined  with  Mrs.  Griffin  ;  and  a  very 
nice  extempore  dinner  did  she  give  him.  There  were  some  cold 
naked  meats ;  there  was  a  beautiful  broiled  steak,  a  stripe  from 
a  quarter  of  beef  which  she  had  received  as  a  present  the  day 
before  from  Mrs.  Eveleigh  ;  the  breadstuffs  of  Mrs.  Griffin. were 
inimitable ;  her  butter  was  the  best  in  the  parish,  and  a  cool 
draught  of  her  buttermilk,  fresh  from  the  churn,  was  welcomed 
by  Porgy  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  a  citizen  escaping,  for  the 
first  time,  from  dusty  walks  and  walls,  to  the  elysium  of  green 
fields  and  forest  shelter. 

Notions  of  arcadian  felicity  crept  into  Porgy's  mind.  Every 
thing  seemed  perfect,  and  perfectly  delightful  about  the  humble 
cottage  of  the  widow  Griffin.  The  trees  had  a'  fresher  look ; 
the  grounds  seemed  to  shelter  the  most  seductive  recesses ;  even 
the  dog  lying  down  in  the  piazza,  and  the  cow  ruminating  under 
the  old  Pride  of  India  before  the  door,  seemed  to  enjoy  dreams 
of  a  happier  sort  than  usually  come  to  dog  and  cow  in  ordinary 
life.  The  skies  above  the  cottage  appeared  to  wear  looks  of 
superior  mildness  and  beauty,  and  to  impart  a  something  kindred 
to  the  looks  of  the  beings  who  dwelt  under  their  favoring  auspi 
ces.  What  a  sweet,  smiling,  modest  creature  was  Ellen  Griffin, 
whom  our  Lieutenant  Frampton  was  shortly  to  take  to  his  bosom. 
And  how  like  her  still  —  how  nearly  as  youthful — how  quite 
as  meek,  and  gentle,  and  devoted  —  was  the  mother. 

Porgy  was  delighted  with  the  part  of  the  day  spent  with  this 


THE  BACHELOR'S  EMBARRASSMENTS.         37 A 

little  family.  His  incertitude,  in  matrimonial  respects,  increased 
the  more  lie  surveyed  her.  Griffin  made  her  impressions,  differ 
ing  much  from  those  of  the  widow  Eveleigh,  but  in  their  way 
not  less  strong ;  perhaps,  stronger,  since  it  was  certain  that 
Captain  Porgy  showed  himself  much  more  at  ease  with  the  one 
lady  than  the  other.  There  was  no  doubt,  indeed,  that  the  su 
perior  social  position  of  Mrs.  Eveleigh,  her  equal  grace  and  dig 
nity  of  bearing,  the  calm,  natural  manner  with  which  she  met 
his  approaches,  all  joined,  in  some  degree,  to  restrain  our  hero 
—  to  lessen,  somewhat,  his  own  ease  ;  to  make  him  less  assured 
on  the  subject  of  his  own  dignity.  ^He  was  sometimes  warned 
by  the  lady,  that  the  brusquerie  of  his  army  habits,  would  not 
altogether  answer — that  he  must  be  on  the  watch  against  him 
self,  to  check  his  involuntary  escapades,  and  never  to  be  forget 
ful  of  the  fact  that  the  time  had  come  when,  to  play  somewhat 
with  the  language  of  the  poet  —  "arms  must  give  way  to 
the  gown  /" 

It  was  this  feeling  of  constraint  which  chiefly  qualified  the 
pleasure  of  his  intercourse  with  the  widow  Eveleigh ;  which  made 
him  hesitate  to  give  her  the  preference ;  and  which,  on  the  other 
hand,  assisted  to  increase  the  favorable  impressions  which  a  pre 
vious  association  had  given  him  of  the  fair  widow  Griffin.  With 
her,  easily  awed,  conscious  of  social  inferiority,  looking  up  with 
great  reverence  to  the  captain  of  partisans,  as  her  late  husband's 
superior,  he  felt  under  few  restraints  of  mere  language  and  de 
portment.  He  did  not  dare  to  swear  in  the  presence  of  Mrs. 
Eveleigh ;  that  would  have  been  a  terrible  violation  of  the  rules 
of  good  society  in  that  day.  Yet  our  captain  had  an  infirmity 
of  this  sort,  and  so  inveterate  was  his  habit,  that  he  had  only 
been  able  to  check  himself,  at  times,  when  in  the  widow's  pres 
ence,  by  arresting  the  unlucky  oath  upon  his  lips  by  a  manual 
operation ;  by  clapping  his  broad  palm  entirely  over  his  own 
mouth.  Now,  he  did  not  feel  the  same  sort  of  necessity  when 
in  the  presence  of  the  widow  Griffin.  Her  social  standards  were 
less  exacting.  Her  social  experiences  were  more  adapted  to  his 
own  later  habits,  and  the  feeling  of  ease  which  he  enjoyed  in 
her  presence,  was  such,  that,  without  deliberately  weighing  the 
chums  of  the  two  ladies  against  each  other,  he  rated  it  as  a  some 
thing  almost  compensative  for  the  surrendei  of  the  graceful,  in- 


374  WOODCRAFT. 

tellectual  attractions  of  the  wealtliy  widow.  He  could  smoke 
his  pipe  in  the  presence  of  the  widow  Griffin,  which  he  had  not 
d;ired  to  do  at  Mrs.  Eveleigh's.  The  former  when  he  had  dined 
with  her,  filled  his  pipe,  herself,  from  a  store  of  tobacco  which 
might  have  been  a  hoard  of  her  late  husband,  and  dropped,  with 
her  own  hands,  the  little  coal  of  fire,  from  the  tongs,  into  it.  It 
\vas  like  a  coal  from  the  altars  of  Cupid,  upon  the  heart  of  the 
partisan  ;  and  while  lie  sat  in  the  piazza,  after  dinner,  his  chair 
resting  solely  on  its  hind  legs,  his  own  thrown  over  the  bannisters, 
his  head  thrown  back,  at  a  declination  almost  the  proper  one  for 
sleep,  and  sent  up  cloud  after  cloud,  by  way  of  tribute  to  the 
heavens,  his  half-shut  eyes  watched  with  a  growing  sense  of  the 
grace  and  beauties  of  the  widow,  her  gliding  and  unobtrusive 
figure,  as  she  busied  herself  about  the  hall  and  table;  assisted 
Ellen  to  move  the  table  back,  brushed  up  her  hearth  with  a 
fairy-like  besom  of  broom  straw,  and  finally  drew  her  knitting  to 
the  doorway,  and  sat  down  in  silent  and  submissive  companion 
ship.  Porgy  mused  and  said  to  himself: — 

"  One  does  not  want  an  equal,  but  an  ally  in  marriage.  A  man 
ought  to  he  wise  enough  for  his  wife  and  himself.  To  get  a  wo 
man  who  shall  best  comprehend  one  is  the  sufficient  secret ;  and 
no  woman  can  properly  comprehend  her  husband,  who  is  not  pre 
pared  to  recognise  his  full  superiority.  When  it  is  otherwise, 
there  are  constant  disputes.  The  woman  is  for  ever  setting  up 
for  herself.  She  is  not  only  unwilling  that  you  should  be  her 
master,  but  she  sets  up  to  be  your  mistress.  Why,  if  she  has 
the  mind,  should  she  not  use  it ;  and  if  she  has  mind  enough  for 
the  household,  what's  the  use  of  yours  ?  Clearly,  there  can  not 
be  peace  in  any  planet  which  acknowledges  two  masters." 

How  long  the  pleasant  surveys  and  soliloquies  of  the  captain 
might  have  continued,  it  is  not  possible  to  say.  They  were  inter- 
rr.pted  by  the  sudden  riding  up  of  Mr.  Fordham,  the  overseer  of 
Mrs.  Eveleigh.  He  made  a  respectful  bow  to  the  captain,  taking 
off  his  hat,  and  offering  his  hand  as  he  did  so;  and  entered  the 
house,  shaking  hands  with  the  widow  and  daughter  with  all  the 
frankness  of  an  old  acquaintance.  After  a  while,  the  captain's 
horse  was  brought  out,  Fordham  volunteering  to  do  the  service. 
Porgy  left  the  overseer  behind  him.  As  he  rode  off,  the  thought 
suddenly  occurred  to  him — 


DEBTOR    AND    CREDITOR.  375 

"  Can  it  be  possible  that  this  fellow,  Fordham,  is  thinking  Of 
fche  widow  ? —  Humph  !" 

And  the  suggestion  led  to  a  prolonged  fit  of  musing  which  was 
only  arrested  when  he  found  himself  within  his  own  avenue. 


CHAPTER    LI 

DEBTOR    AND    CREDITOR. 

THE  next  day  Porgy  rode  over  to  see  the  wife  of  the  squatter, 
from  whom  he  had  received  a  supply  of  stockings,  and  some  cloth 
of  her  own  and  daughter's  weaving.  It  was  fortunate  that  lie 
did  not  sufi'er  Millhouse  to  know-that  he  dropped  three  guineas  into 
the  hands  of  little  Dory  when  one  would  have  sufficed  for  pay 
ment.  He  gave  other  commissions  to  the  humble  family,  and 
noted  with  pleasure  the  improvements  and  acquisitions  in  the 
little  household,  the  fruits  of  his  own  liberality  and  that  of  Mrs. 
Eveleigh.  While  sitting  in  the  porch  of  the  hovel,  with  Dory 
quietly  nestling  in  his  lap,  he  was  surprised  to  see  the  widow  and 
her  son  ride  up  on  horseback.  Of  course,  the  interview  was  a 
pleasant  one  all  round,  though  our  captain  felt  a  little  awkward, 
at  the  first  blush,  when  caught  in  his  paternal  relation  with  the 
little  girl.  She,  too,  by  some  strange  instinct,  started  up  at  the 
coming  of  the  new  visitors  and  retreated  to  the  side  of  her 
mother. 

"  I  had  a  call  yesterday,  captain,"  said  Mrs.  Eveleigh,  "  from 
Mr.  M'Kewn.  You  have  heard  that  he  is  now  a  resident  at  the 
plantation  adjoining  me,  which  he  owns.  He  is  making  the 
rounds  of  the  neighborhood,  and  you  may  soon  look  to  see  him, 
[  suppose." 

"  Too  soon,  I  fear,"  answered  the  captain,  looking  disquieted. 

"Well,"  said  she,  "  we  must  hope  for  the  best.  —  If  I  could 
recover  that  box — "  she  added,  half  to  herself,  but  here  sho 
stopped,  and  the  captain  could  only  look  curious. 

"  You  have  heard  nothing  of  your  husband  yet,  Mrs.  Bost 
v/ick?  '  asked  the  widow  of  the  poor  woman. 


376  .  WOODCRAFT. 

"  Not  a  word,  ma'am,  and  I  don't  know  what  to  think.  I'm 
dub'ous  something's  happened  to  him." 

To  this  the  widow  said  nothing.  After  a  pause,  however,  she 
proceeded  to  give  a  commission  for  a  quantity  of  homespun  cloth, 
and  concluded  with  asking  that  Dory  might  go  home  and  spend 
a  week  with  her.  Dory  looked  earnestly  toward  her  mother, 
and  the  latter,  with  eyes  filling,  and  with  some  reluctance  in  her 
manner,  gave  her  consent  that  she  should  go  over  the  next  day 
Porgy  accompanied  the  widow  and  her  son,  when  they  took  theii 
departure,  though  he  did  not  attend  them  home.  He  was  quite 
too  full  of  serious  thoughts,  which  naturally  came  up  with  the 
statement  made  respecting  M'Kewn.  He  had  heard  of  that 
person's  arrival  in  the  neighborhood;  but  the  sympathizing  man 
ner  of  the  widow  was  calculated  to  impress  him  more  seriously 
than  his  own  thoughts,  in  respect  to  the  legal  relations  in  which 
he  stood  with  the  Scotchman,  and  the  danger  with  which  he 
might  expect  very  soon  to  be  threatened.  This  danger  he  well 
knew  could  not  long  be  evaded.  The  trial  of  strength  must  soon 
come  on,  and  when  he  reflected  upon  those  suspicions  in  regard 
to  M'Kewn,  which  the  remarks  of  Mrs.  Eveleigh  had  imparted 
to  his  mind,  upon  the  facts  in  connection  with  the  abduction  of 
his  slaves,  and  her  conjectures  in  respect  to  the  share  which 
M'Kewn  had  taken  in  fche  affair,  he  felt  very  much  like  making 
the  conflict  a  personal  one.  Our  partisan  would  greatly  have 
relished  any  circumstances  which  would  authorize  a  transfer  of 
the  proceedings  from  the  courts  of  law  to  those  of  arms.  But 
we  need  not  anticipate  his  reflections,  particularly  as  we  shall 
soon  hear  from  his  own  lips,  what  are  his  feelings  and  resolves 
in  the  matter. 

The  very  next  day  M'Kewn  made  his  appearance  at  Glen- 
Eberley.  Porgy  was  alone  in  his  piazza,,  as  the  former  rode  up 
the  avenue.  Millhouse,was  somewhere  in  the  rice-fields  ;  Lance 
Frampton  had  ridden  over  to  see  Ellen  Griffin,  his  marriage  with 
whom  was  very  shortly  to  take  place ;  and,  except  Tom,  the 
cook,  and  Pomp,  the  fiddler,  there  was  no  one  present  to  witness 
the  interview  between  the  parties.  Porgy  had  been  smoking, 
and  the  pipe  was  still  in  his  mouth  as  M'Kewn  came  in  sight. 
As  soon  as  he  was  recognised  by  our  partisan,  the  latter  betrayed 
his  emotions  by  a  single  movement,  which,  taking  the  pipe  from 


DEBTOIl    AND    CREDITOR.  Oil 

ins  mouth,  shivered  it  over  the  railing  of  the  piazza.  This  done, 
he  remained  comparatively  cool ;  at  all  events  he  preserved  his 
external  composure.  Pomp  took  the  horse  of  the  visitor,  who, 
at  once,  in  -a  free  and  easy  way,  ascended  to  where  Porgy  still 
maintained  his  seat.  As  he  reached  the  floor,  the  latter  rose, 
and  with  cairn  and  courtly  gravity,  said ; — 

"  Mr.  M'Kewn,  I  believe." 

;  At  your  service,  captain.  I'm  very  glad  to  see  you  safe,  sir, 
after  the  war.  It's  a  long  time  since  I've  had  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  you." 

"  Pleasure  !"  quoth  Porgy  —  then  motioning  to  a  chair — "  take 
a  sectt,  sir." 

The  Scotchman  accepted  the  reluctant  invitation,  laid  his  hat 
down  beside  him,  drew  off  his  gloves,  rubbed  his  hands,  and 
looked  about  him  with  the  air  of  a  man  resolved  on  putting  him 
self  on  the  easiest  possible  terms  with  his  host.  Porgy  looked 
on  with  the  stern  calmness  of  one  who  compels  himself  to  sub 
mit,  with  as  much  composure  as  possible,  to  an  unpleasant  ne 
cessity  which  he  sees  not  well  how  to  escape.  His  visiter,  mean 
while,  began  with  a  repetition  of  his  congratulations ;  that  the 
war  was  over,  that  the  country  had  achieved  its  independence, 
that  old  friends  were  safe,  that  old  associations  were  to  be  re 
newed,  and  so  forth.  Porgy  heard  him  for  a  while  in  silence 
and  great  gravity  of  aspect,  until  getting  weary  and  impatient 
of  the  commonplace  preliminaries  which  the  other  had  employed, 
he  himself  broke  ground  in  relation  to  the  only  subject  of  real 
interest  between  the  parties. 

"  To  make  a  long  story  short,  Mr.  M'Kewn,  I  owe  you  a  con 
siderable  amount  of  money,  which,  no  doubt,  you  desire  "should 
be  paid."  • 

"  Very  true,  captain,  a  very  considerable  amount  indeed,  out 
of  which  I  have  been  lying  for  several  years,  and  which  I  cer 
tainly  am  very  much  in  need  of." 

"  You  are  secured  I  think,  sir,  however,  by  bond  and  mort 
gage  7" 

"  Secured,  sir  ?  No,  indeed  !  My  mortgage  covers  the  lands 
of  Glei-Eberley,  but  if  these  were  all  sold  to-morrow,  at  present 
prices,  they  wouldn't  pay  one  half  of  the  debt  for  which  they 


378  WOODCRAFT. 

are  bound.     And  you  know,  sir,  there  is  a  considerable   unlifji •.}• 
dated  debt  besides,  sir;  some  thousand  pounds,  sir  • 

"Ah!  yes!  Well,  Mr.  M'Kewn,  you  certainly  io  ::/:>:  expect 
that  I  should  have  any  money  so  soon  after  Oib  war.  You  suf 
ficiently  appreciate  the  patriotism  which  called  us  int3  the  fiel.i 
and  kept  us  in  the  ranks  for  so  many  years,  without  any  com 
pensation." 

"  True,  sir,  true  !  Nobody  honors  more  than  I  do  the  patriot 
ism  that  achieved  our  independence ;  but,  sir,  it  is  not  for  a  sin 
gle  person  like  myself  to  do  more  than  his  share  in  such  a  con 
flict.  I  have  made  a  great  many  sacrifices,  and  lost  a  great  de;.) 
myself  in  the  cause ;  and  you  will  admit  that  a  credit  of  more 
than  five  years — " 

"  Is  no  credit  at  all,  sir,  under  the  present  circumstances,  un 
less,  perhaps,  continued  for  as  many  years  more." 

"  Oh  !  that  is  quite  impossible,  Captain  Porgy.  I  am  greatly 
in  want  of  money,  now.  Buying  this  plantation  and  negroes,  it 
has  stripped  me  quite  and  left  me  considerably  in  debt  myself." 

"  I  don't  see  how  I  am  to  help  you.  You  can  not  possibly 
suppose  that  I  have  any  money." 

"  Well,  captain,  I  don't  know,"  was  the  answer,  with  a  signifi 
cant  smile.  "  Report  says  that  you  have  money,  and  in  consid 
erable  amount.  You  have  been  purchasing  largely  in  the  city 

—  and  the  rumor  is "  here  a  pause,  and  an  increased  signifi 

cance  of  smile. 

"  Well,  sir,  what  of  rumor  ?" 

"  Why,  sir,  the  rumor  goes,  that  Captain  Porgy,  returning 
from  the  field  of  Mars  with  laurels,  has  been  welcomed  to  those 
of  Love,  and — " 

"  Stop,  sir! — Mr.  M'Kewn,  I  am  Billing  that  you  shouM  re 
peat  what  rumor  may  have  reported,  but  I  must  warn  you  by 
no  means  to  attempt  any  invention  of  your  own." 

"  Inventions,  sir  !"  And  M'Kewn  looked  a  little  angrily — "  1 
have  no  invention,  Captain  Porgy.  I  only  state  what  others 
have  said  to  me,  or  in  my  hearing." 

"Well,  sir;  confine  yourself  to  that,  if  you  please." 

"  It  is  briefly  said,  Captain  Porgy.  The  rumor  is,  that  a  cer 
tain  wealthy  widow  of  this  neighborhood  is  prepared  to  honor  the 
laurels  of  the  soldier,  and  supply  all  his  deficiencies  of  fortune — " 


DEBTOR    AND    CREDITOR.  37S 

"Enough,  Mr.  M'Kewn,"  said  Porgy,  arresting  him  —  with  a 
stern  aspect,  and  warning  finger  uplifted.  "  You  have  said  what 
you  have  heard,  I  suppose,  and  now  hear  what  I  say.  If,  here 
after,  I  hear  any  man  repeating  this  story,  I  shall  slit  his  tongiio 
for  him.  The  lady  in  question  is  one  whom  I  greatly  honor, 
and  of  whom  I  will  not  hear  anybody  speak  in  disparagement. 
There  was  that  in  your  tone  and  manner,  Mr.  M'Kewn,  just 
now,  which  I  did  not  relish.  Be  pleased  to  take  warning." 

M'Kewn  was  somewhat  taken  aback,  but  recovering  himself 
lie  said  — 

"  I  do  not  know,  Captain  Porgy,  why  I  should  take  warning 
in  particular.  I  am  hardly  apprehensive  that  anybody  will  slit 
my  tongue  for  anything  I  say,  though  I  am  not  the  man  to  give 
any  provocation  to  violence  on  the  part  of  anybody.  Let  me 
add,  sir,  that  I  see  no  harm  in  the  report  which  I  mentioned  — 
no  harm,  certainly,  in  saying  that  a  certain  brave  officer  of  oui 
armies  has  been  distinguished  by  the  favor  of  a  certain  lovely 
and  wealthy  widow  of  our  county." 

"  There  is  harm,  sir,  because  there  is  great  indelicacy  and 
great  injustice  in  it.  I  am  the  proper  authority  in  this  matter, 
and  I  tell  you,  sir,  in  answer  to  this  rumor,  that  the  intercourse 
between  Mrs,  Eveleigh  and  myself  is  that  simply  of  friendship, 
occasioned  perhaps,  wholly,  by  a  service  which  I  had  the  good 
fortune  to  render." 

"Well,  but,  captain,  there  is  no  good  reason  why  friendship, 
in  such  a  case,  should  not  ripen  into — " 

"  No  more,  sir  !  The  subject  is  one  upon  which  I  can  suffer 
no  jesting.  That  upon  which  we  have  to  speak  simply  concerns 
money.  I  owe  you  money  ; — you  want  your  money  you  say." 

"  I  do  sir  ;  I  have  been  kept  out  of  it  long  enough,  Captain 
Porgy." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  intimate,  sir,  that  I  have  perversely  and 
willingly  kept  you  out  of  your  money  ?" 

"  I  state  nothing,  sir,  but  the  absolute  fact,  that  the  money  is 
due  me,  has  been  due  too  long,  and  that  I  certainly  expect  it 
to  be  paid,  and  paid  very  soon." 

"  Very  good,  sir  !  Such  then  is  your  expectation.  Now,  sir 
hear  inc.  I  shall  expect  from  you  a  full  statement  of  our  ac 
counts,  with  all  items  of  charge  particularly  stated." 


380  WOODCRAFT. 

"  Why,  sir,  you've  had  the  accounts  rendered  you  in  full,  so 
years  ago." 

"  No,  sir ;  such  is  not  the  case.  It  is  true,  I  was  improvident 
enough  not  to  demand  them,  and  to  take  your  summary  state 
ments  when  I  should  have  had  a  full  bill  of  particulars.  I  re 
quire  them  now,  sir." 

"  In  the  case  of  the  bond  and  mortgage,  sir,  the  requisition 
need  not  be  answered.  That  is  a  liquidated  claim,  acknowledged 
under  seal,  and,  sir,  according  to  law — " 

"  You  are  something  of  a  lawyer,  I  perceive,  Mr.  M'Kewn, 
and  I  claim  to  know  nothing  about  law.  Still,  I  have  some 
hope  of  justice,  and,  in  the  case  of  bond  given  and  mortgage 
sealed  and  signed,  under  circumstances  of  error  or  fraud " 

"  Do  you  mean  to  impute  fraud  to  me.  Captain  Porgy  T'  de 
manded  M'Kewn  with  some  fierceness  of  aspect. 

"And  if  I  did,  sir,  do  you  suppose  I  should  value  a  fig  your 
hectoring  looks  ?  Keep  your  temper  within  bounds,  Mr.  M'Kewn : 
for  you  would  try  to  bully  me  in  vain  ;  and  to  let  you  under 
stand  this  more  fully,  let  me  tell  you  that  I  do  impute  fraud  to 
you—" 

"  Ha  !"  rising  from  his  seat. 

"  Yes,  sir !  I  think  you  at  once  a  great  and  a  little  rascal. 
Since  you  demand  my  opinion,  you  shall  have  it.  I  believe  you 
have  cheated  me  in  these  accounts,  for  the  satisfaction  of  v/hich, 
in  my  blind  confidence  and  folly,  I  gave  you  a  lien  apon  rny 
property.  I  shall  require  a  thorough  overhauling  of  your  ac 
counts,  from  the  beginning,  sir,  and  fancy  that  I  shall  be  able  to 
find,  in  some  process  of  law,  a  means  by  which  to  arrive  at  the 
awards  of  justice  !" 

"  Very  well,  sir  ;  very  well,  sir,"  gathering  up  hat  and  gloves 
—  and  shaking  them  in  both  hands  with  nervous  fury — "If  it's 
law  you  want,  sir,  you  shall  have  it.  You  shall  have  enough  to 
remember  it  all  your  life." 

And  he  wheeled  about  to  descend  the  steps.  Here  he  encoun 
tered  Millhouse,  at  whose  back  stood  Tom,  the  cook,  and  Pomp 
the  fiddler. 

"  Say  the  word,  cappin."  quoth  Millhouse,  •'  and  I'll  give  the 
fellow  a  h'ist." 

**  Say  de  wud,  maussa ;    da's  all,"  echoed  Tom,  his  sleeves 


DEBTOR    AND    CREDITOR,  381 

already  rolled  up  ;  while  Pomp  threw  himself  into  an  attitude, 
claws  extended  as  if  about  to  grapple  with  a  bear.  M'Kewn 
looked  at  the  enemies  in  his  path,  and  drew  up  with  recovering 
dignity  • 

"  Am  I  to  be  assaulted  in  your  house,  Captain  Porgy  ?" 

"  Let  him  go,  Millhouse  !     Let  him  pass." 

The  three  made  way  for  him,  reluctantly,  Millhouse 


"  I  feel  mighty  onpleasant  at  parting  with  the  critter,  without 

giving  him  jest  one  squeeze!  —  I  reckon  that's  the  fellow  they 

calls  M'Kewii." 

Tne  creditor,  by  this  time,  was  on  horseback.     He  looked 

back  with  gleaming  eyes  upon  the  group,  then  dashed  up  the 

avenue  at  full  gallop. 

"  It's  cl'ar,  cappin,  that  the  war's  declared  atween  you  !" 

"  Yes,  Millhouse,  and  the  army-chest  nearly  empty." 

"  A\rell,  we'll  do  the  fighting  all  for  love  ;  eh,  Tom  !" 

"  Hah  !    da's  jist  de  way  for  fight,  kai.se  you  lubs  it  !     But 

how  yon  guine  light  1     Da'  bucrah  ain't  de  sawt  of  pusson  to 

lub  yer  [hear]  de  bullet  whistle." 

"  A)?.  !  Tom  !  there's  not  the  sort  of  fighting  that  he  intends. 

He  makes  the  sheriff  do  his  fighting.     Do  you  remember  'what 

I  told  you  about  the  sheriff?" 

"Enty,  I  'member,  maussa]     He's  a  warmint,  you  bin  tell 


me 


"  Yes,  indeed,  and  now,  how  to  keep  you  all  from  falling  into 
his  clutches." 

A  long  consultation  followed  between  the  captain  and  sergeant, 
to  which  Tom  occasionally  contributed  a  characteristic  sugges 
tion.  Lance  Frampton  returned  at  night  to  share  in  the  discus 
sion.  Neither  of  the  parties,  however,  could  throw  much  light 
upon  the  difficulty  which  embarrassed  them,  and  Captain  Porgy. 
while  he  reflected,  felt  that  he  had  perhaps  brought  on  the  con 
flict  of  strength  rather  prematurely,  and  that  prudence  should 
have  prompted  more  forbearance;  but  whenever  he  recalled  the 
references  made  by  M'Kewii  to  the  widow  Eveleigh,  he  became 
reconciled  to  his  own  rashness. 

«  No  !  d  —  ii  the  fellow  !  whatever  happens  I  shall  never  re 
gret  what  I  said  to  hum.  Better  break  at  once  with  such  a  scoun 


382  WOODCRAFT. 

drcl,  than  have  him  perpetually  about  ytu;  now  fawning,  now 
threatening ;  always  vexing  your  soul,  and,  whatever  the  delay, 
destroying  you  at  last.  I  can  face  all  the  evil  that  he  threatens 
with  a  stout  heart,  but  can't,  with  any  heart  of  contentment,  saf 
fer  him  10  face  me  with  his  scoundrel  countenance!" 


CHAPTER   LII. 

THE    RANDOM    SHAFT. 

THE  news  soon  got  abroad  of  what  had  taken  place  at  Glen 
Eberley,  between  its  proprietor  and  creditor.  M'Kewn's  own 
rage  forced  him  to  tell  the  story  to  various  persons,  and  Mill- 
house  conveyed  the  substance  of  it  to  Fordham,  the  very  night 
that  it  took  place.  The  two  overseers  had  met  that  night,  in 
the  basement  of  the  dwelling  at  Glen-Eberley  ;  Millhouse  hav 
ing  taken  one  of  the  lower  rooms  to  himself,  while  that  adjoin 
ing  had  been  assigned  to  Frampton.  Porgy  was  suffered  to  live 
in  loftier  state,  above  stairs,  to  himself.  The  parties  met  always 
at  the  same  table  in  the  dining-room,  and  would  sit  together 
usually  of  an  evening ;  but  Millhouse  had  his  own  circle,  of 
whom  Fordham  was  one,  whom  he  received  only  in  his  own  do 
main.  The  two  overseers  went  over  together  the  whole  history 
of  the  relations  of  our  partisan  with  M'Kewn,  as  far  as  they 
knew  it,  and  discussed  with  some  anxiety  the  modes  of  escape 
for  their  superior  from  so  voracious  a  person.  It  need  not  b<5 
stated  here,  that  the  united  wisdom  of  the  two  was  scarcely  of  a 
sort  to  help  them  very  greatly  in  the  encounter  with  the  diffi 
culty.  The  substance  of  all  Fordham  learned  was  conveyed  the 
next  day  to  Mrs.  Eveleigh,  whose  interest  in  the  affairs  of  Cap 
tain  Porgy  was  no  secret  to  him.  He,  himself,  felt  a  great  sym 
pathy  for  our  partisan,  and  found  it  impossible  to  avoid  talking 
over  the  matter,  and  meditating  the  modes  of  escape.  Of  course 
the  widow  saw  at  a  glance,  that  none  of  the  suggestions  of  her 
overseer  or  of  the  captain's,  could  avail  for  any  useful  purpose. 
The  next  day  she  wrote  a  note  to  Porgy,  requesting  him  to  visit 
her;  a  summons  which  he  promptly  obeyed.  Her  son.  Arthur, 


THE    RANDOM    SHAFT.  383 

hi  ought  the  invitation  and  the  captain  accompanied  him  on  his 
return. 

The  two,  however  widely  removed  by  years  and  experience 
had  become  pretty  close  intimates,  and  Arthur  had  learned  to 
relish  the  eccentricities  of  his  senior,  particularly  as  he  always 
found  something  in  his  conversation  which  sensibly  compelled 
his  thoughts  in  a  novel  direction.  Porgy  loved  the  society  of 
fho  young  and  framed  his  conversation  to  suit  their  tastes  and 
impulses.  He  was  playful  as  well  as  thoughtful,  could  happily 
unite  the  playful  with  the  thoughtful,  as  is  the  case  usually  with 
the  contemplative  mind ;  and,  what  with  narratives  of  the  stir 
ring  events  of  the  army,  anecdotes  of  persons  and  performances, 
a  lively  satirical  vein,  and  a  frank  humor,  he  contrived,  without 
much  effort,  to  make  himself  highly  attractive  to  the  youth,  who 
frequently  rode  over  to  Glen-Eberley  to  sit,  as  well  as  lird  with 
him,  and  who,  for  a  time,  became  quite  enthusiastic  in  his  admi 
ration  of  the  partisan.  He  frequently  amused  his  mother  with 
a  recital  of  the  subject-matter  of  conversation  between  them,  and 
learned  to  repeat  the  good  things  of  the  captain,  as  if  they  were 
his  own. 

Porgy,  who  liked  the  grace  and  spirit  of  the  youth,  was  pleased 
with  the  admiration  which  he  displayed,  and  was  at  some  pains 
to  secure  it.  Arthur  possessed  a  pair  of  foils,  left  by  his  father ; 
Porgy  gave  him  lessons  in  fencing,  and  was  equally  ^delighted 
with  his  rapidity  of  improvement,  and  the  grace  and  ease  of  his 
address  in  swordmanship.  In  brief,  the  veteran  and  the  youth 
were  on  terms  of  the  most  cordial  intimacy;  and  the  latter,  as 
soon  as  he  heard  the  particulars,  became,  of  course,  deeply  con 
cerned  in  the  legal  embarrassments  of  the  former.  We  need 
not  say  that  he  could  give  no  help  by  his  counsels  in  the  matter, 
though  he  rather  inclined  to  the  opinion  of  Millhouse  that  the 
better  method  was  to  contrive  some  way  of  lighting  through  the 
difficulty,  and  it  was  with  a  modest  earnestness  that  he  whispered 
to  the  overseer  his  perfect  willingness  to  serve  as  a  volunteer  in 
any  expedition  which  should  contemplate  this  method  of  squar 
ing  accounts  with  Porgy 's  creditor. 

He  listened  with  curious  interest,  and  possibly  some  dissatis 
faction,  when  he  heard  his  mother  gravely  rebuke  the  captain  for 
suffering  himself  to  get  angry  with  M'Kewn. 


384  WOODCRAFP. 

"You  ought  to. have  conciliated  him  as  far  as  possible.  Your 
policy  should  be  to  gain  time.  There  is  none  in  precipitating  the 
event.  Doubtless,  you  had  provocation,  but — " 

"Very  great!"  muttered  Porgy,  but  he  could  not  venture  to 
tell  her  that  she  herself  had  been  the  subject. 

"We  must  still  gain  time,  captain  —  gain  as  much  as  possible. 
There  are  now  no  courts  in  session.  There  will  be  none  till  the 
fall.  I  don't  know  much  of  business,  but  I  suppose  M'Kewn 
can  scarcely  proceed  till  then — " 

"I  don't  know  that,'*  said  Porgy.  "I  know  very  little  of  the 
law,  but  I  believe  there  are  certain  processes  which,  even  before 
judgment,  will  enable  a  creditor  to  bind  or  seize  a  debtor's 
property." 

"We  must  consult  with  Pinckney.  In  the  meantime,  there  is 
a  matter  which  concerns  this  person  M'Kewn,  in  connection  with 
both  of  us,  which,  perhaps,  ought  to  be  known  to  you,  though, 
as  affairs  at  present  show  themselves,  1  do  not  see  that  the  pos 
session  of  my  statement  merely,  will  be  of  any  avail  to  your  re 
lief." 

She  proceeded  to  tell  of  the  papers  which  she  had  appropria 
ted  from  the  desk  of  Moncrieff,  but  suddenly  arrested  herself  to 
say  to  her  son — 

"  Arthur,  remember,  this  matter  must  not  be  whispered  by  you 
to  anybody.  It  may  do  mischief  if  repeated,  particularly  under 
impulse  or  excitement,  and  without  the  means  to  prove  what  I 
say." 

She  then  went  on  to  speak  of  the  missing  box,  and  manu 
scripts,  and  to  describe  the  contents  of  the  latter,  giving  par 
ticulars,  of  which  we  are  already  in  possession.  Porgy  saw  at 
once  the  importance  of  the  statement  could  the  writings  be  re 
covered. 

" My  dear  widow,"  said  he,  "could  we  recover  the  papers, 
and  prove  this  fellow's  handwriting,  which  I  could  do  easily,  we 
should  have  him  at  our  mercy." 

"  This  was  the  opinion  of  Mr.  Parsons;  it  is  also  the  opinion  of 
Colonel  Pinckney.  I  have  consulted  both ;  and  but  for  the  un 
fortunate  loss  of  that  box — " 

"  It  must  be  found.  I  will  find  it,"  cried  Porgy. — "  That  fel 
low  Bo st wick  must  be  forthcoming." 


THE    RANDOM    SHAFT.  385 

"Has  nothing  been  heard  of  him?  " 

"Nothing  for  two  months.  I  have.1  sworn  to  hang  him  to  the 
first  tree,  should  I  lay  hands  on  him,  if  only  for  the  benefit  of  his 
wife  and  children." 

"Stay!"  said  Mrs.  Evcleigh,  putting  her  finger  on  her  lips, 
"here  comes  little  Dory." 

And  the  little  girl  came  into  the  piazza  at  the  moment,  and 
entered  the  hall,  passing  promptly  forward  to  the  captain,  and  put 
ting  her  little  white  hand  into  his.  He  looked  at  her  with  sur 
prise.  Such  a  change  as  a  few  days  had  wrought  in  her  appear 
ance.  She  was  newly  clad,  in  better  quality  of  clothes,  made  in 
better  style.  It  was  Cinderella,  the  drudge,  converted  by  fairv 
hands,  into  Cinderella,  the  princess.  The  little  thing,  beautiful  in 
all  her  obscurity,  was  singularly  so,  emerged  from  the  cloud.  She 
smiled  consciously,  as  she  saw  the  captain  perusing  the  change. 
He  kissed  her  between  the  eyes,  and  with  a  bound  she  darted 
away. 

Scarcely  had  she  gone  when  Arthur  Eveleigh  showed  himself  a 
little  rest i if.  In  a  few  moments  lie  disappeared  also,  leaving  the 
captain  and  his  mother  to  conclude  their  conference  without  wit 
nesses.  It  is  not  our  cue  to  pursue  it  further.  Enough  that 
Porgy  left  the  widow,  with  the  increasing  conviction  that  he  was 
destined  in  some  way,  to  owe  his  safety  and  relief  to  her.  They 
had  agreed  upon  certain  matters  together.  They  were  both  to 
write  to  Colonel  Pinckncy,  while  Porgy  was  to  renew  his  efforts 
at  recovering  the  missing  box.  When  Arthur  Eveleigh  returned 
to  the  house  which  he  had  left,  on  some  pretext  of  looking  after 
dogs  and  birds,  he  seemed  a  little  disappointed  that  Porgy  was 
gone,  and  at  once  resolved  to  ride  after  him.  But  he  gave  up  the 
resolution  in  a  moment  after,  and  contented  himself  with  taking 
up  his  rifle,  calling  up  one  of  his  squirrel  dogs,  and  setting  forth 
on  a  tramp  into  the  pine  woods. 

His  route  led  him  directly  down  the  avenue  leading  to  the 
high  road.  He  had  scarcely  emerged  into  this,  before  he  en 
countered,  on  horseback,  the  very  person  of  whose  secret  scoun- 
drelism  he  had  heard  so  much  said  only  an  hour  before.  M'Kewn, 
the  Scotchman,  was  making  his  way  directly  toward  the  widow's. 
Arthur  would  have  avoided  him,  by  burying  himself  in  the 
woods,  but  it  was  too  late  to  escape  unseen,  and  M'Kewn  seemed 

17 


386  WOODCRAFT. 

determined  to  prevent  it.  He  saw,  in  the  aspect  of  the  young 
man,  the  prejudices  and  suspicions  of  the  mother.  His  policy 
was  to  disarm  them  both.  We  have  seen  that  he  had  already 
called  upon  the  widow.  The  rifle  on  the  lad's  shoulder,  and  the 
dog  beside  him,  at  once  afforded  him  a  clew  by  which  to  conciliate 
the  son. 

"Good  morning,  master  Arthur,"  said  he,  as  he  approached, 
"good  morning.  You  are  for  a  squirrel-hunt,  I  perceive.  Well, 
if  you  will  take  my  woods  you  will  find  them  in  greater  abun 
dance  than  in  any  oilier  part  of  the  country.  I  do  believe  my 
fox-squirrels  are  the  most  magnificent  of  size  that  can  be  found 
anywhere.  One  of  them  can  easily  eat  up  half  a  dozen  ears  of 
corn  at  a  sitting.  Do  me  the  favor  to  hunt  them  up  and  make 
as  familiar  acquaintance  with  them  as  possible.  My  grounds  are 
always  free  to  you,  and  you  will  find  them  full  of  other  game. 
If  you  want  a  deer-hunt  at  any  time,  let  me  hear  the  night  before, 
and  I  will  secure  you  a  shot ;  and  as  for  doves  and  partridges, 
you  can  scarcely  skirt  the  fields  anywhere  without  stumbling  over 
them." 

Arthur  thanked  him,  but  received  the  overture  with  coldness. 

"Your  mother's  at  home,  I  suppose.  I  see  she  has  recently  had 
a  visitor." 

Here  he  smiled  significantly,  looking  up  the  road.  The  youth 
boAved. 

"Captain  Porgy  is  a  frequent  visitor  at  your  house." 

"Yes,  sir;  he  comes  sometimes,  and  we  are  always  glad  to  see 
him." 

' '  I  suppose  so,  —  I  suppose  so ;  the  captain  is  no  doubt  a  great 
gallant  —  most  military  men  are.  The  ladies  usually  find  them 
invincible.  But  the  wars  are  now  over,  master  Arthur,  and  the 
gown,  they  tell  us,  when  that  is  the  case,  soon  gets  the  better  of 
the  sword.  It  is  the  captain's  misfortune  that  he  does  not  suffi 
ciently  credit  this  fact.  I  barely  reminded  him  of  the  fact  that 
he  owed  me  a  certain  and  very  considerable  debt,  and  he  was  for 
fighting  me  on  the  spot.  Ha !  ha !  what  do  you  think  of  such  a 
mode  of  settling  a  debt?" 

Arthur  only  looked  at  his  rifle  but  said  nothing. 

"  You  say  your  mother's  at  home,  master  Arthur." 


THE    RANDOM    SHAFT.  387 

"Well,  I  am  about  to  visit  her.  I  will  not  carry  you  back  with 
me,  knowing  you  had  much  rather  be  at  better  sport.  But  see  to 
my  fox-squirrels,  will  you,  and  remember,  whenever  you  would 
have  a  crack  at  a  buck,  I  can  certainly  give  you  one  always." 

The  youth  again  thanked  hi:n,  and  hurried  into  the  woods. 
M'Kewen  looked  after  him  as  he  disappeared,  and  muttered  — 
"  The  cub  has  had  his  warning.  They  are  all  against  me.  But! 
—  "  and  he  gave  his  horse  the  spur,  and  was  soon  cantering  up  the 
avenue  to  the  widow's  dwelling.  She  received  him  very  civilly, 
and  after  a  few  preliminary  flourishes,  he  began  — 

"I  have  called  to  see  you,  Mrs.  Eveleigh,  as  a  neighbor  whom  I 
very  much  respect,  in  order  that  your  mind  may  not  be  abused  by 
anything  that  you  may  have  heard  respecting  a  late  affair  with 
Captain  Porgy.  I  believe,  my  dear  madam,  I  have  as  much  desire 
to  keep  on  good  terms  with  my  neighbors,  as  anybody  in  the 
country,  and,  I  am  sure,  if  there  be  any  difference  between  us,  the 
fault  is  not  likely  to  be  mine.  You  must  know,  Mrs.  Eveleigh, 
that  I  am,  and  for  years  have  been,  a  large  creditor  of  the  captain, 
and  I  hold  a  mortgage  upon  his  lands.  But  this  mortgage 
does  not  half  secure  me,  and  I  called  upon  the  captain,  intending 
only  to  ask  him  for  additional  securities,  when  he  fell  into  a 
paassion  with  me,  without  any  sort  of  provocation,  imputed  fraud 
to  me,  and  I  know  not  what,  and  so  we  parted.  Now,  as  you  may 
hear  of  this  matter,  from  other  source,  I  wish  to  put  you  in  the 
right  as  to  the  particulars.  I  have  too  much  desire  of  your  good 
opinion  to  be  willing  that  you  should  hear  of  the  affair  from  any 
body  but.  myself,  and  I  am  anxious  to  assure  you  that,  as  a  new 
comer  into  the  neigborhood,  it  is  neither  my  policy  nor  my  wish 
to  have  any  quarrel  with  anybody." 

He  said  a  great  deal  more  than  this,  all  in  the  most  conciliatory 
vein.  He  had  his  own  objects  in  keeping  on  good  terms,  espe 
cially  with  the  widow,  and  in  fact  he  was  glad  of  any  occasion 
which  would  justify  his  frequent  visits.  He  was  a  bachelor  and 
she  was  a  fine  woman,  having  a  fine  fortune.  But,  apart  from 
this  he  still  entertained  some  larking  apprehensions  that  lie 
might  be  somewhat  in  her  power.  Thinking  that  she  had  posses 
sed  herself  of  the  missing  papers  between  himself  and  Moncrieff, 
yet  not  quite  sure  that  Bostwick  had  obtained  them,  there  was 


388  "WOODCRAFT. 

a  lurking  anxiety  which  troubled  him  and  made  him  quite  solicit 
ous  to  make  the  most  favorable  impression  upon  her. 

M'Kewn  was  a  hard  but  not  ill-looking  man,  and  he  had  seen 
enough  of  good  society  to  carry  himself  fairly  in  the  presence  of 
the  sex.  We  must  not  forget  to  mention  that  everything  about 
him  was  in  the  first  style  of  fashion.  He  wore  the  best  clothes, 
and  did  not  stint  himself  in  decorations  of  his  person.  His  fingers 
shone  with  rings.  A  large  jewel  blazed  in  the  pin  which  secured 
the  ruffles  of  his  shirt.  The  frills  at  his  wrist  were  of  the  finest 
lace.  His  boots  would  have  satisfied  the  Bond  or  Broad  street 
dandy ;  the  equipment  of  his  horse  would  have  won  admiration  on 
the  race-course ;  and  all  his  domestic  arrangements  contemplated 
the  best  defined  standards  of  the  existing  fashions.  M'Kewn  was 
emulous  of  the  best  social  position,  and,  so  far  as  money  might  be 
expected  to  secure  it  for  him,  it  was  used  without  stint  or  limit. 
The  lady  heard  him  with  quiet  composure  to  the  end. 

"I  thank  you  for  your  complimentary  wishes  in  regard  to  my 
self,  but  I  should  prefer  not  to  be  required  to  sit  in  judgment  on 
this  difficulty  between  yourself  and  Captain  Porgy." 

"Ah!  madam,  but  that  I  have  reason  to  know  that  the  captain 
has  been  beforehand  with  me  in  his  revelations,  and  the  fear  that 
you  might  be  prejudiced  in  the  matter  — " 

"Even  if  this  were  the  case,"  said  the  lady,  "  I  do  not  see,  Mr. 
M'Kewn,  how  the  matter  will  affect  the  interests  of  either  of 
you." 

"Ah !  madam,  I  am  not  unaware  of  the  interest  which  you  have 
taken  in  the  captain's  affairs.  I  am  not  ignorant  that  it  is  to  you, 
and  your  friendly  loans,  that  he  owes  the  restoration  of  his  estab 
lishment,  —  and  — " 

"This,  Mr.  M'Kewen,  it  appears  to  me,  is  a  business  which 
need  not  provoke  the  concern  of  any  third  person?" 

"1  beg  pardon,  madam; — you  are  right  —  I  simply  stated  what 
was  the  notorious  fact." 

"It  is  one  of  those  facts,  sir,  in  respect  to  which  there  has  been 
no  privacy.  Captain  Porgy  was  in  want  of  money,  and  I  had 
money  to  lend.  I  lent  him  money  on  good  security  I  have  a 
mortgage  on  all  his  negroes."  * 

"But,  "with  a  smile,  "that  mortgage  will  scarcely  cover  them 


THE  RANDOM  SHAFT.  389 

all.  At  present  prices,  five  hundred  guineas  will  scarcely  buy 
twenty-five  negroes,  or  the  half  of  them.1' 

M'Kewn  had  evidently  been  a  shrewd  inquirer  into  the  affairs  of 
the  parties. 

"Perhaps  not,  sir,  and  that  is  not  the  idea  I  mean  to  convey. 
It  is  enough  that  my  loan  is  quite  secure  in  order  to  justify  me  in 
making  it,  though  I  am  not  aware  that  my  conduct  in  the  transac 
tion  needs  any  justification." 

"By  no  means,  madam;  do  not  suppose  me  guilty  of  any  inten 
tion  to  convey  such  an  idea." 

The  lady  proceeded. 

"One  word,  Mr.  M'Kewn.  Captain  Porgy  is  a  gentleman  by 
birth  and  education,  who  has  been  doing  good  service  to  his 
country,  for  several  years,  without  pay  or  reward,  and  to  the 
grievous  injury  of  his  own  fortune.  It  seems  to  me  that  he  de 
serves  every  indulgence  that  can  be  accorded  him  by  those  who 
are  grateful  to  Heaven  for  those  blessings  of  independence  which 
he  has  helped  to  win.  I  am  at  a  loss  to  see  what  motive  there  can 
be  for  urging  him  to  a  satisfaction  of  these  debts  which  can  only 
be  paid  now  by  the  entire  sacrifice  of  his  property. " 

"I  understand  you,  madam;  and  I  may  say  that  I  should  have 
been  pleased  to  indulge  Captain  Porgy,  but  he  is  a  person  who 
won't  let  you  serve  him;  and  when  he  insolently  called  my 
honor  in  question,  he  determined  me  to  give  him  no  indulgence. 
In  brief,  Mrs.  Eveleigh,  Captain  Porgy  is,  with  all  his  education, 
a  mere  ruffian,  a  coarse  brutal  soldier,  who  thinks  to  carry  it 
with  violence  and  a  high  hand  against  the  laws.  I$ut  he  shall 
see.  His  personal  insolence  to  me,  madam,  is  beyond  forgive 
ness." 

"Really,  Mr.  M'Kewn,  I  do  not  understand  you.  Am  I  to  un 
derstand'  that  your  mode  of  resenting  a  personal  indignity  is  to 
clothe  yourself  with  the  terrors  of  the  creditor,  instead  of — 

The  lady  paused.  She  felt  that,  in  uttering  this  sarcasm,  she 
had  gone  too  far;  she  was  doing  mischief  to  the  cause  which  she 
wished  to  help;  and  that  her  policy,  on  the  part  of  Porgy,  and 
as  she  had  been  counselling  him,  ought  to  be  conciliatory  only. 
She  was  conscious  of  error  on  other  grounds.  She  had  suffered 
local  associations,  and  the  current  practice  of  the  times  to  usurp 
place  in  her  judgment,  at  the  expense  of  her  religion.  She  was 


390  WOODCRAFT. 

tacitly  exhorting  or  goading  the  creditor  to  resort  for  his  re 
dress  to  the  duello.  She  stopped  herself  suddenly,  and  apolo 
gized  — 

"  Pardon  me,  Mr.  M'Kewn,  I  am  wrong.  I  did  not  mean  this. 
Perhaps  you  are  quite  right  in  the  assertion  of  your  claims  by  es 
tablished  legal  methods.  That  I  should  have  thought,  or  sug 
gested  otherwise,  only  shows  that  the  subject  is  one  that  should 
not  properly  concern  me.  Let  me  simply  repeat  the  wish,  that 
you  should  accord  as  much  favor  to  a  brave  man, —  not  a  ruffian, 
sir, — one  whom,  perhaps,  you  have  somewhat  ruffled, — as  may  be 
consistent  Avith  your  interests.  It  will  do  you  no  hurt,  but  rather 
much  good  in  the  neighborhood,  if  you  forbear  as  long  as  possible 
toward  one  who  is  such  a  general  favorite." 

''Nay,  madam.  One  who  is  evidently  a  particular  favorite,'1  he 
answered  with  a  sneering  smile.  The  cheeks  of  the  lady  flushed 
and  her  eyes  flashed  fiercely. 

"I  am  hardly  prepared  to  understand  you,  Mr.  M'Kewn,  though 
it  is  evident  from  your  looks  and  manner,  that  you  designed  some 
thing  very  sarcastic  and  offensive  — 

"By  no  means,  Mrs.  Eveieigh — " 

"Let  me  say,  sir,  by  way  of  protecting  myself,  that  I  have  been 
a  soldier's  wife;  and  I  have  learned  some  lessons  from  his  feelings 
and  opinions,  which  I  may  not  advocate,  or  argue,  or  defend  in 
any  way,  but  the  force  of  which  I  acknowledge,  and  the  laws  of 
which  I  obey.  I  am  a  woman,  sir,  it  is  true;  but  if  it  needs,  for 
the  assertion  of  my  womanly  dignity,  that  I  should  lift  the  weapon 
of  the  man,  I  shall  feel  no  womanly  fears  in  doing  so.  If  you 
have  any  scruples,  sir,  in  resenting  personal  indignities  as  men  are 
apt  to  do,  I  have  none ;  and  though  I  have  many  friends,  sir,  who 
would  cheerfully  do  battle  in  my  cause,  I  would  not  suffer  one  of 
them  to  incur  any  peril  of  life  or  limb,  while  I  am  able  to  stand 
and  confront  the  insolent,  myself.  I  trust  you  understand  me. 
Here,  if  you  please,  our  conference  must  end." 

She  had  risen  when  these  things  were  to  be  said,  and  M'Kewn 
had  risen  also.  Her  tall  and  portly  form,  her  commanding  atti 
tude,  her  sharp,  "clear  voice,  the  indignant  fires  in  her  eye,  breath 
ing  equal  scorn  and  nobleness,  were  a  study  for  the  dramatic 
painter.  She  was  Boadicca  at  the  head  of  her  Britons.  She  was 
Zenobia  at  the  moment  of  her  greatest  confidence,  when  she  de- 


LANCE    FRAMPTON    GOES    OFF    SlDDHNLV-  391 

lied  all  the  strength  of  Koine.  jM'Kewn  was  awed.  He  stammered 
some  inconsequential  apologies,  which  only  caused  her  lip  to  curl 
with  increasing  scorn. 

"Go,  sir,"  she  said,  "  no  more! — and  yet,  one  word,  sir.  There 
was  a  person,  one  Bostwick,  a  squatter  for  many  years  on  my  lands, 
whom  I  had  the  fortune  to  encounter  at  Colonel  Moncrieffs,  when 
you  and  he  were  in  conference  together.  Do  you  know,  sir,  what 
has  become  of  that  man  Bostwick?  " 

It  was  a  mere  instinct  —  a  somewhat  savage  one  —  that  prompted 
the  widow  to  send  that  shaft  at  random,  seeking  the  proper  vic 
tim.  It  struck  him.  M1Kewn,  awed  before,  was  now  shocked, 
almost  paralyzed.  His  face  grew  pale  as  death,  his  lips  parted  but 
not  for  speech.  He  stood  for  a  moment  vacantly  gazing  upon  the 
inquirer,  as  still  erect,  with  finger  pointing  directly  to  him,  she 
seemed  to  await  his  answer.  With  a  prodigious  effort  he  at  length 
gave  it  —  only  a  single  sentence,  uttered  with  a  gasp. 

"  I  know  nothing  of  the  man." 

"Ah !  —  well !  —  enough !  " 

She  said  no  more,  and,  with  a  faint  "good  morning,  madarn," 
he  hurried  from  the  apartment. 


CHAPTER   LIII. 

LANCE    FRAMPTON    GOES   OFF    SUDDENLY. 

M'KEWN  rode  home  with  scarcely  a  consciousness  of  his  progress. 
It  was  some  time  before  he  recovered  from  the  Parthian  shaft  of 
the  widow.  He  saw  at  a  glance  whither  her  suspicions  tended, 
and  it  was  only  after  a  long  interval,  that  he  reflected  that  hers 
were  suspicious  only ;  and  so  long  as  the  missing  papers  were  not 
forthcoming,  no  matter  what  suspicions  were  entertained,  they 
could  in  no  respect  avail  against  him.  But  were  the  papers  miss 
ing  ?  Had  not  Bostwick  deceived  him  ?  Was  there  not  some 
reason  for  supposing,  from  the  course  taken  by  the  widow,  that 
she  was  still  in  possession  of  her  proofs  ?  But  a  little  calm  reflec 
tion  satisfied  him  to  the*  contrary. 


392  WOODCRAFT. 

"  If  she  had  them,  she  never,  with  such  a  feeling  toward  me,  and 
with  such  a  passionate  nature,  could  have  kept  quiet  so  long.  It 
is  her  passion  that  speaks  now.  Had  I  not  provoked 'her,  she  never 
would  have  let  out  so  much.  I'm'  glad  that  I  stung  her  into  the 
showing  of  her  secret.  It  is  now  clear  to  me  that  Bostwick  got  the 

papers;  and  he —  I  trust  that  he  is  in  the  sea,  or  in ,  it  matters 

not  where,  so  he  keeps  away  from  this !  Yet,  she  saw  the  rascal 
in  that  one  glimpse  at  MoncriefPs  ?  She  has  the  eye  of  a  hawk ! 
She  would  fight  too!  Swords  or  pistols,  five  paces  even,  and 
never  wink  an  eye !  She  should  have  been  a  man !  She  would 
have  been  a  famous  one!  As  a  woman  she  would  never  suit 
me.  She  might  undertake  to  horsewhip  me  in  my  own  house 
hold.  Will  she  marry  this  mammoth  Porgy?  No,  indeed  !  She 
has  been  too  long  free  to  seek  or  suffer  another  master,  now ! 
D — n  him,  unless  she  marries,  she  shall  not  save  him!  I 
will  strip  and  beggar  him,  if  there  be  law  or  lawyer  in  the 
land." 

Leaving  him  in  this  amiable  determination,  which  underwent  no 
modification  with  the  progress  of  time,  it  is  proper  that  we  should 
glance  at  the  affairs  of  other  and  subordinate  parties  in  our  true 
life-history.  The  appointed  period  had  arrived  when  Lance  Framp- 
ton  should  be  united  to  Ellen  Griffin.  The  wedding  was  to  take 
place  the  very  night  of  the  day  when  Captain  Porgy  made  his  last 
visit,  as  briefly  described,  to  Mrs.  Evclcigh.  When  he  returned 
home,  not  having  remained  to  dine  as  usual  with  the  widow,  he 
found  the  lieutenant  already  making  his  preparations.  His  wed 
ding  clothes  were  spread  out;  Pomp  was  brushing  his  boots;  one 
of  the  negro-girls  was  mending  his  suspenders;  and  the  youth 
himself,  busy  about  a  dozen  different  things,  was  in  such  a  state  of 
nervous  excitement  that  he  really  knew  not  what  he  was  doing. 
Somewhat  forgetting  his  own  affairs,  the  captain  jested  with  him 
merrily,  after  his  style  of  humor,  upon  the  event  which  w'as  ap 
proaching.  Porgy,  of  course,  had  been  invited  to  attend;  so  had 
Millhouse;  Tom,  the  cook,  without  being  asked,  notified  the 
young  man  that  he  wrould  be  present. 

"You's  one  ob  de  family,  Mass  Lance,  an'  I  muss' see' how 
you  guine  through  the  ezaction  [transaction].  It's  wuss  to  some 
people,  dis  getting  married,  dan  guine  into  de  fight.  Dey  feels 
all  ober  wid  a  sawt  ob  cold  sweat;  and  dey  trimbles  jest  as  ef 


LANCE  FKAMI'TOX  GOES  OFF  SCDDEXLY.      393 

(ley  was  a-feelin'  de  push  of  the  inimy's  basnets.  Now,  .Mass 
Lance,  le'  me  tell  you  wha'  for  do.  Jes'  before  you  hub  for  'tan 
up  before  de  passou,  tek'  a  stiff  pull  at  de  Jamaica.  lie  will  help 
mek' you 'trong. —  Ef  you  skear,  iiebber  le' Miss  Ellen  sec  YOU 
skear;  for  womans  always  will  tak'  dc  vantage  of  man  wha'  dey 
see  is  skear.  You  rnus'  'tan  up 'traight,  hole  up  your  head,  and 
jes'  you  keep  finking  all  dc  time,  ef  you  no  kill  de  inimy,  lie 
guine  to  kill  you. —  Da's  it!  and  when  you  t'iuk  dat,  you  will  shet 
your  teet'  close,  an'  fling  out  wid  all  yeu'  stren'th  as  ef  you  yer  de 
cry  all  'bout  you,  'Ta'lton  Qua'ters  ! '  Ef  you  no  feel  'trong  dat 
time,  when  you  t'ink  you  y'er  dat  cry,  you  loss  de  battle,  and  de 
woman  will  be  you  maussa  for  ebber  arter,  for  'ree  t'oitsan'  yers 
[years],  an'  all  de  season's  guine  to  be  winter  !  Yerry  wha'  I  say, 
and  feel  youse'f  strong  'fore  de  time  for  de  light  come  on." 

The  sergeant  contented  himself  with  saying  that,  "Marriage  is 
good  for  some  people.  'Twould  do  for  the  cappin,  ef  so  be  he 
got  hold  of  the  right  pusson ;  but  what  sich  a  fellow  as  you, 
should  git  a  wife  for,  thar's  no  seeing.  You've  got  nothing,  and 
she's  got  nothing,  and  two  nothings  put  together,  make  a  houseful 
of  ixpenses,  and  not  a  shilling  of  profit.  'Twouldn't  ha'  done  you 
eeny  harm,  Lance,  ef  you'd  waited  tell  you  was  forty-five,  like  the 
cappin,  and  then  died  a  bachelor,  onless  you  could  git  the  right 
sort  of  pusson, —  one  that  had  something  to  put  to  your  nothing, 
my  lad.  But  that's  not  saying  that  Ellen  ain't  a  mighty  nice  gal, 
Lance;  she  is,  and  a  purty,  and  I  reckon  it's  that  mostly  what  has 
taken  you.  But  to  be  purty  ain't  enough,  and  when  you  marries  so 
soon,  you  don't  give  yourself  hafe  a  chaince." 

But  these  cold-water  speeches  did  not  discourage  our  lieuten 
ant.  They  only  served  to  increase  his  anxiety  to  have  the  affair 
over.  An  hour  before  sunset  found  the  whole  cavalcade  ready  for 
departure  and  in  the  saddle,  Porgy  taking  the  lead,  Lance  and 
Millhouse  riding  together,  just  behind  him,  and  Tom  and  Pomp 
bringing  up  the  rear.  Pomp  had  his  violin  slung  about  his  neck. 
In  his  blue  jacket,  with  red  facings,  his  glazed  cap,  and  white 
homespun  breeches,  Pomp  felt  that  he  had  made  a  large  stride  in 
dignity  since  the  period  of  his  rescue  from  the  British  hulks.  AYo 
owe  it  to  the  captain  not  to  omit  stating  that  he  had  sent  off  a  cart 

17* 


394  WOODCRAFT. 

a  couple  of  hours  before,  with  a  demijohn  of  Jamaica,  a  gallon  of 
wine,  and  some  other  small  creature  comforts  designed  to  help  out 
the  merry-making.  He  had  also  some  presents  for  the  bride  in  the 
shape  of  dresses  and  ornament,  and  a  box  and  barrel,  also  con 
veyed  by  the  cart,  contained  a  pretty  little  contribution  to  the 
future  housekeeping  of  the  young  couple.  Millhouse  saw  these 
things  put  up  to  be  sent,  with  no  cordial  feelings,  though  the  sub 
ject  was  one  upon  which  he  dared  not  openly  say  a  single  word. 
But,  in  secret  soliloquy,  he  deplored  the  captain's  profligacy: 

"They  doesn't  stand  in  need  of  all  them  things,  and  it's  jest 
nothing  better  than  waste.  Waste  breeds  want;  and  the  Lord 
knows  how  soon  he'll  be  a-wanting  everything  himself.  Then 
what's  the  look  out  ?  It  runs  from  him,  when  he's  got  it,  jest 
like  water  from  the  mill,  when  the  dam's  broke  down  in  a  fresh. 
Lord !  how  he  does  want  a  strick  master  over  him !" 

It  was  sunset  when  the  party  reached  Mrs.  Griffin's,  and  the 
company  was  already  beginning  to  assemble.  There  were  several 
young  people  of  both  sexes  whom  the  captain  did  not  know,  and 
one  of  the  girls,  all  of  whom  had  walked,  had  got  a  tub  of  water 
in  front  of  the  house  and  was  cooly  washing  her  feet.  Fordham, 
the  overseer,  was  already  present,  and  it  struck  Porgy  that  he 
seemed  very  much  at  home.  He  was  assisting  Mrs.  Griffin  in 
spreading  and  arranging  tables.  The  captain  thought  he  appear 
ed  officious  rather  than  polite,  particularly  as  he  saw  him  dispo 
sing  the  tippet  upon  the  widow's  shoulders,  which  had  been  dis 
ordered  by  her  exertions.  There  was  much  good-humored  talk, 
and  some  mirth,  in  under  tones  between  them,  which  put  the 
overseer  in  a  more  obtrusive  and  less  agreeable  point  of  view 
than  he  had  hitherto  shown  himself  to  Porgy's  eyes.  But  the 
affair  was  one  of  a  sort  to  render  all  parties  free  and  easy,  and 
our  captain  was  persuaded  that  the  customs  of  the  country,  and 
the  class,  with  which  he  did  not  claim  to  be  very  familiar,  might 
possibly  justify  all  these  freedoms.  He  was  the  more  readily 
disposed  to  think  thus  when  the  widow  Griffin,  approaching  him 
with  the  profoundest  deference,  and  full  of  smiles,  entreated  him 
to  come  and  take  a  seat  which  she  had  placed  and  prepared  en 
tirely  for  him,  where  he  could  be  at  ease,  in  one  of  the  best  posi 
tions  for  witnessing  the  ceremony,  and  on  a  capacious  cushion 


LANCE  FRAMPTON  GOES  OFF  SUDDENLY.      395 

which  she  herself  had  made  especially  for  his  use,  and  of  which 
she  entreated  his  acceptance.  The  captain  was  easily  persuaded. 
The  seat  was  a  good  one. — The  cushion  gave  him  the  notion  of 
a  new  luxury.  He  forgot  very  soon  all  his  misgivings,  while  she 
sat  beside  him,  listening  with  the  most  deferential  manner  to  all 
he  had  to  say,  and  Fordham  civilly  contented  himself  with 
making  merry  with  the  young  people  in  the  porch. 

Candles  and  torches  were  lighted.  The  parson  had  arrived ; 
the  guests  crowded  into  the  hall,  and  pretty  soon  filled  it.  A  de 
cent  interval,  and  the  parson  asked  after  the  young  lady.  And 
soon  she  appeared  attended  by  one  bridesmaid.  Ellen  Griffin 
certainly  looked  very  pretty  in  her  simple  white  muslin  frock, 
with  one  bright  flower  stuck  in  her  silken  ringlets,  contrasting 
not  more  with  them  than  with  the  delicate  paleness  of  her  cheeks. 
At  her  approach,  Millhouse  clapped  Frampton  on  his  shoulder, 
and  murmured  pretty  loudly  in  his  ears — 

"Now,  don't  be  skear'd.  As  Tom  says,  jest  you  think  you're 
a-charging  the  inimy,  and  stand  up  stout  for  the  crossing  of  bag'- 
nets.  Don't  you  forgit  the  cappin  is  a-lookiug  on  you." 

And  the  youth  stood  up,  and  his  fingers  met  and  twined 
in  with  those  of  the  damsel,  and  the  parson  confronted  them, 
and  the  ceremony  was  begun.  Millhouse  stood  up  in  the  rear 
of  the  lieutenant.  But  the  occasional  push  in  the  ribs,  and 
whispers  which  he  gave  him,  did  not  seem  to  inspirit  the  youth, 
whose  head  continued  to  hang  down,  bashfully,  until  in  the  midst 
of  the  .ceremony,  the  voice  of  the  sergeant  became  audible  — 
"Heads  up,  and  the  Lord  be  with  you  !"  to  the  consternation 
of  the  parson  and  half  of  the  assembly.  The  youth  was  more 
prompt  and  decided  in  his  demonstrations  when  he  was  in 
structed  to  salute  the  bride,  which  he  did  with  a  resounding 
smack  that  gave  satisfactory  testimony  to  the  ears  of  the  sergeant, 
who  exclaimed  — 

"  Well,  that's  doing  it  something  like.  Nobody  kin  say  now  it 
isn't  done  ! " 

The  parson  followed  the  example  of  the  bridegroom,  and  Capt. 
Porgy  followed  him.  The  captain  did  not  rest  content  until  he 
bestowed  a  similar  compliment,  very  suddenly,  upon  the  widow 
Griffin  herself,  who  stood  provokingly  nigh  to  Ellen  ;  but  he  was 
confounded,  a  moment  after,  to  find  the  overseer,  Fordham, 
taking  a  similarly  extempore  liberty. 


39G  WOODCBAFT. 

' '  Pie's  surely  been  tasting  the  Jamaica ! "  muttered  Porgy  sotto 
roce;  but  Millhouse,  who  overheard  the  speech,  promptly  re 
pined — 

"  He's  after  the  sperrit  and  the  flesh,  both !  Lord !  I  swow  ! 
but  I  should  like  to  eat  a  leetle  off  the  same  plate !  The  widow 
looks  like  a  mighty  nice  eatable !  " 

Porgy  turned  away  from  the  speaker  as  in  some  displeasure, 
and  resumed  his  scat  upon  the  cushioned  chair.  The  ceremony 
was  fairly  over;  it  had  not  been  a  long  one;  and  merry  was  the 
uproar  that  followed.  The  company  adjourned  to  the  piazza,  to 
dance,  leaving  the  hall  mostly  vacant,  and  to  the  free  use  of  those 
who  were  to  arrange  the  supper.  Porgy  had  his  chair  wheeled 
out  to  the  porch.  In  those  days  the  parson,  like  any  person  of 
flesh  and  blood,  waited  for  the  frolic  and  the  feast ;  and  he  and 
Porgy,  while  the  fiddle  of  Pomp  began  to  speak  up,  engaged  in 
a  warm  controversy  as  to  the  merits  of  matrimony;  both  being 
upon  the  same  side  throughout,  but  differing  in  the  philosophies 
by  which  the  subject  was  approached.  The  fiddle  of  Pomp 
called  up  many  guests  who  had  not  been  invited.  The  negroes 
of  a  dozen  plantations  filled  the  yard  in  front,  already  practicing 
in  "Juba"  and  "double  shuffle."  Suddenly  Millhouse  discov 
ered  that  the  wrhole  regiment  of  Glen-Ebcrly  was  among  the 
crowd.  Here  was  a  palpable  infraction  of  the  laws.  Here  was 
treachery  and  insubordination.  The  sergeant  was  in  great  com 
motion. 

"I  wron't  stand  it,  cappin,  I'll  be  into  'em  like  a  troop  of  dra 
goons.  They  must  pack,  every  rascal  among  'em,  man  and 
woman,  or  hickories  don't  grow  in  this  country. " 

"Psho!"  growled  Tom,  the  cook,  "  wha'  for  you  make  so  much 
bodderation,  Mass  Millhouse,  when  der's  no  use?  De  nigger  done 
he  w?/k  [work],  he  mus'  hab  he  play  !  Enty  you  see  dis  dah 
wedding  time,  when  ebb'rybody,  wha'  aint  git  marry  hese'f,  kin 
hab  he  fun  ? " 

"Tom's  right,"  quoth  Porgy,  "let  the  negroes  stay,  Millhouse, 
and  enjoy  themselves." 

"They  won't  be  worth  a  copper  for  work  to-morrow,  cap- 
pin." 

"  Then  we  must  give  them  holyday.  But  that's  all  a"  mistake. 
They  will  work  better  for  a  little  play  to-night. " 


LAXCE    FRAMPTOX   GOES   OFF   SUDDENLY.  M? 

"Dasatrute,  Massa, "  said  Tom.  "De  sergeant  is  too  foolish 
preticklar.  I  don't  t'ink  he  want  nigger  for  sleep  as  much.  Sleep 
ing  and  dance  is  de  t'ing  for  inek'  nigger  wuk  like  a  gompU'iium, 
and  keep  him  from  tief.  When  he  dance,  he  sweat  out  all  he 
badness.  Den  he  good,  lub  he  maussa,  an'  'tan'  up  to  he  wuk, 
like  a  sodgcr  'g'in  de  inimy.  I  wonder,  Mass  Millhouse,  ef  you 
nebber  'lows  youse'f  any  pleasure?" 

"Do  you  ever  see  me  at  it,  Tom?     Do  you  ever  see  me  dancing?" 

"Da's  kaise  youkain't.  You  got  only  one  arm  for  swing,  when 
you  shakes  you  leg,  an'  you  goes  over  the  wrong  side.  But  nigger 
wha'  got  he  two  arm,  and  he  two  leg,  him.  kin  dance  an'  feel  he 
speerit  joyful !  Look  a'  dem  two  boy,  yonder,  wha' dance  Juba ! 
Enty  he  do  'em  great.  Dem  fellows  is  de  most  righteous  young 
fellows,  in  Juba,  I  bin  see,  for  t'ousand  ye'rs !  See  how  de  leetle 
one  shuffle  he  right  leg,  while  t'udder  one  dey  sleep.  See  how 
he's  a-slappiug  he  t'ighs  [thighs]  wid  bot'  he  hand,  jes'  in  time 
wid  de  fiddle,  le'  de  fiddle  jump  about  in  wha'  tune  he  please. 
And  de  fellow  look,  all  de  time,  as  ef  he  bin  sleep ;  he  eyes  shut, 
and  he  face  wid  no  more  'spression  in  'em,  dan  a  greasy  punkin. 
And  de  udder  fellow,  wha'  keep  he  eyes  so  open  bright,  and  look 
so  keen  'pon  de  leetle  f ellow,  see  how  he  manage  'em !  How  he 
rnek'  urn  do  jest  de  berry  t'ing  he  want.  Now  he  go  quick,  now 
he  go  slow,  now  he  go  quick  and  slow  togedder,  till  de  berry  bones 
seem  a-guine  to  fall  out  ob  de  breeches.  Ha !  de  t'ing  is  a  most 
extonishing,  won'ersome  t'ing,  Mass  MiU'hus.  Dem  two  boys  is 
mak'  for  not'ing  in  dis  woiT  but  to  dance  Juba." 

' '  Ef  they  were  mine,  Tom,  I'd  find  out  at  the  end  of  a  hickory, 
ef  they  wasn't  good  for  something  besides  Juba.  I'd  tickle  'em  to 
another  sort  of  music  in  the  cornfield,  I  tell  you." 

"  Psho !"  muttered  Tom,  turning  away,  and  giving  the  benefit 
of  his  response  to  his  master.  "De  sergeant  is  too  cussed  foolish' 
He  don't  comprehend  nigger  nater  't  all !  He's  always  a-talking 
'bout  wuk,  as  ef  der's  no  play  in  de  worl' ;  and  always  a-talking 
'bout  hick'ries,  as  ef  de  airth  was  nebber  mek'  to  raise  any  better 
t'ings!  Da's  always  de  way  wid  dem  poor  buckrah,  wha's  got  no 
nigger  ob  he  own.  He's  always  a-wanting  to  wuk  de  niggers  ob 
udder  gcmpleman's  tell  he  bones  come  out  ob  he  skin.  Ha!  he 
hab  leetle  touch  on  he  own  shoulder  ebbry  morning,  from  hard 


398  WOODCRAFT. 

maussa  jes'  for  tek  de  stiffness  out  ob  um,  he  had  better  cornpev 
hension  ob  nigger  nater. " 

This  taste  may  suffice ;  white  and  black  danced  till  midnight. 
the  former  in  the  piazza  and  hall,  the  latter  in  the  open  grounds 
beneath  the  trees.  Solid  was  the  supper  that  followed,  and  strong 
the  drink ;  and  wild  enough  the  scampering,  great  the  shouting, 
hard  the  riding,  when  each  party  took  its  way  homeward,  some 
where  about  the  dawn.  Lance  Frampton's  wedding  was  an  event 
which  is  still  remembered  upon  the  Ashepoo ! 


CHAPTER    LIV. 

SUMMARY   OF  THE   EVENTS   OF   THE   SUMMER. 

The  summer  was  passing  rapidly.  Captain  Porgy  lived  pretty 
much  after  the  old  fashion.  He  spent  a  day,  occasionally,  at 
Mrs.  Eveleigh's;  sometimes  took  his  dinner  at  the  widow  Grif 
fins,  where  Lance  Frampton  had  taken  up  his  abode  with  his 
young  wife.  The  time  passed  without  much  excitement,  and 
with  no  absolute  embarrassments.  It  was  in  the  future  that  the 
clouds  lowered  threateningly,  and  the  philosophy  of  Porgy  was 
not  to  look  in  their  direction.  Whenever  the  subject  of  M'Kewn 
arid  his  claims  was  forced  upon  him  by  the  pertinacious  Millhouse, 
he  thundered  and  lightened  for  awhile,  and  finally  thought  upon 
the  widow  Eveleigh.  She  was  his  one  particular  bright  star  of 
hope,  and  one  whom  the  policy  of  the  sergeant  forever  sought  to 
place  before  his  sight,  as  far  as  he  dared  do  so  after  the  stern 
warnings  which  he  had  received.  The  captain's  own  musings 
brought  up  her  image  with  sufficient  frequency  to  his  eyes  He 
found  himself  perpetually  arguing  her  virtues,  her  excellences, 
her  charms,  all  of  which  he  acknowledged  freely  to  himself. 
But  a  sigh  would  usually  close  these  meditations.  There  was 
still  a  something  wanting  to  her  perfections — he  could  not  say 
what — or  a  something  in  excess,  which  left  him  always  unwilling 
to  pursue  the  subject  to  any  definite  result.  It  was  through  the 
medium  of  his  own  infirmity  that  he  saw  this  deficiency,  or  ex 
cess,  in  the  widow  Eveleigh;  and  it  was  because  he  looked 


SUMMARY    OF   THfc   EVENTS    OF   THE    SUMMER.         399 

through  this  medium  only,  that  he  failed  to  determine  in  what  it 
consisted.  We  are  better  prepared  to  see,  and  to  resolve  it, 
than  himself.  His  infirmity  was  self-esteem ;  and  the  venera 
tion  of  the  widow  had  been  qualified  and  moderated  by  a  long 
intercourse  with  those  higher  walks  of  society  in  which  faith  is 
not  apt  to  flourish.  Convention  is  very  much  the  foe  to  hero- 
worship. 

When  dissatisfied  with  his  meditations  in  respect  to  the  widow 
Eveleigh,  Porgy  found,  invariably,  that  his  thoughts  turned  for 
relief  in  the  direction  of  the  simpler  widow,  Griffin.  There  was 
something  so  meek,  and  artless  about  this  lady  —  something  so 
little  imposing  and  yet  so  grateful  —  that  his  mood  became 
soothed  while  he  contemplated  her.  She  rose  before  his  mind's 
eye  in  an  always  gracious  attitude,  and  with  a  most  gracious  as 
pect.  He  remembered  her  slight  form  with  pleasure,  and  con 
trasted  it  with  that  of  the  widow  Eveleigh.  The  latter,  in  all 
such  comparisons,  appeared  to  him  to  be  quite  too  masculine. 
The  former  seemed  the  very  embodiment  of  feminine  perfection. 
His  ideas  of  woman  were  those  of  a  period  when  the  sex  had 
not  yet  determined  to  set  up  for  itself;  though  wielding  a  most 
potent  sway  in  society,  and  even  in  politics,  particularly  in  Car 
olina.  His  models,  accordingly,  required  absolute  dependence 
on  the  woman,  though  without  meaning  to  abridge  any  of  her 
claims  as  a  woman,  or  to  subjugate,  unjustly,  her  individuality. 
He  never  dreamed  of  denying  her  any  of  her  rights,  when  he 
required  that  she  should  recognize  the  lordship  in  the  hands  of 
the  man.  There  was  something  assured  in  the  position  and  the 
endowments  of  Mrs.  Eveleigh,  tihat  startled  his  sense  of  author 
ity.  Her  very  virtues  had  a  manly  air  which  girded  his  pride; 
her  very  wealth,  and  its  importance  to  his  own  case,  seemed  to 
humble  him  in  his  relations  with  her;  and,  when  he  admitted  to 
himself,  as  he  was  forced  to  do,  that  this  wealth  was  really  a 
consideration  in  the  case,  the  effect  was  to  lessen  the  attractions 
of  the  lady,  which  were  yet  intrinsically  very  great  in  his  eyes. 
Had  she  been  poor,  and  were  there  no  Mrs.  Griffin  in  the  field, 
we  venture  the  opinion  that  Porgy  would  never  have  fancied  any 
other  woman.  As  the  case  stood,  there  were  times  when  he  de 
cidedly  gave  her  the  preference,  and  fancied  that  his  heart  was 
absorbed  wholly  with  her  attractions ;  —  when  he  believed  that 


400  WOODCRAFT. 

his  affections  demanded  her  sympathies,  and  would  be  satisfied 
with  nothing  less;  and,  so  feeling  and  thinking,  he  would  re 
solve  to  ride  over,  after  an  early  breakfast,  or  to  an  early  break 
fast,  the  next  morning,  and  bring  his  cogitations  to  the  final  issue. 
and  his  doubts  along  with  them.  But  a  sound  night's  rest,  with 
probably,  some  faint,  shadowy  vision  of  the  widow  Griffin  in  his 
dreams,  seemed  to  act  as  a  sudden  sedative  to  his  passion  for  the 
wealthier  widow,  and  the;  purpose  would  dissipate  in  thin  air, 
while  his  meditations  would  become  more  dubious,  yet  more  in 
tense  than  ever. 

His  admiration  of,  or  attachment  to,  Mrs.  Griffin,  was  not  with 
out  its  qualifications  also.  He  could  not  fail  to  be  disquieted  as 
he  reviewed  her  intellectual  inferiority.  In  this  respect  she 
was  the  weakest  vessel  in  the  world.  She  had  no  intelligent 
conversation;  no  education;  no  experience;  no  natural  endow 
ment;  no  mother  wit;  and,  though  her  sweet  temper,  gentle 
bearing,  and  implicit  deference,  were  all  agreeable  to  his  self- 
esteem,  he  could  not  but  ask  himself  whether  something  more 
was  not  requisite  to  the  one  whom  he  should  choose  as  a  com 
panion  in  life.  While  the  war  lasted,  and  when  the  life  of  the 
camp  rendered  most  of  the  desires  sensual,  he  would  not  have 
vexed  himself  with  any  such  inquiry.  He  then  thought  only 
of  the  excellent  management  of  the  housekeeper;  her  skill  in 
soups  and  stews ;  the  culinary  art  which  w'ould  convert  a  vege 
table  into  a  meat,  a  wing  of  chicken  into  a  fish;  and  at  such  like 
magical  and  charming  transmutation,  viewed  through  this  medium 
only,  Mrs.  Griffin  was  incomparable. 

To  a  certain  extent,  Porgy  still  examined  his  object  through 
these  endowments.  But  his  media  of  study  had  become  multi 
plied.  Released  from  the  camp,  and  its  necessities,  old  tastes 
had  been  resumed;  ancient  refinements  were  recalled;  long 
banished,  or  subdued  tastes,  had  been  once  more  lifting  their 
heads;  and  his  sensual  nature  had  been  gradually  taking  some 
golden  and  amber  hues  and  tints  from  the  recovering  vigor  of 
his  mind  and  fancy.  Griffin,  was,  in  certain  respects,  therefore, 
as  difficult  a  case  as  Eveleigh ;  and  the  captain  of  partisans,  sit 
ting,  pipe  in  mouth,  at  Glen-Eberley,  and  looking  alternately  to 
the  fair  widows  on  either  hand,  might  be  likened  to  that  saga 
cious  animal  (whose  length  of  ears  has  been  unkindly  made  his 


SUMMARY    OF   THE    EVENTS    OF   THE   SUMLMEI!.          10 1 

reproach)  who  sees,  on  each  side  of  him,  a  goodly  bundle  of 
sweet,  fresh  hay  which,  drawing  ]>0th  ways  with  equal  strength, 
will  suffer  him  honestly  to  approach  neither.  Tin-  struggle,  oc 
casioned  by  this  embarrassment  of  taste  and  need,  was  suHi  as 
sometimes  to  effect  the  appetite  of  the  captain.  He  evidently 
grew  thinner  as  the  summer  and  his  meditations  grew  loo-ether. 
There  was  no  such  amplitude  of  waist  to  be  girded  in,  as  former 
ly,  when  he  toiled,  and  traveled,  and  fought,  daily  and  nightly 
in  the  army.  He  now  took  in  several  more  inches  in  his  belt, 
and,  not  unfrequently,  the  sergeant  drew  his  attention,  with  great 
concern,  to  his  diminishing  dimensions. 

"It's  the  heat  of  this  infernal  summer/1  said  Porgy. 

'''It's  the  want  of  a  fondelsome  wife,  cappin,  as  I've  been 
a-telling  you  all  along — a  woman  of  substance,  that'll  help  you 

drive  off  that  d d  sheriff,  and  put  the  idee  that  troubles  you 

out  of  your  head. " 

"How  the  devil  should  I  get  the  sheriff  out  of  my  head  when 
you  are  constantly  thrusting  the  monster  .in  at  my  ears?" 

This  outbreak  usually  terminated  such  a  discussion.  Mean 
while,  M'Kewn,  like  some  great  political  spider,  sat  in  the  cen 
tre  of  his  web  of  meshes,  and  waited  for  the  moment  when,  in 
the  exhausted  state  of  the  victim,  he  should  fall  an  easy  prey. 
He  was  not  altogether  quiet,  though  seemingly  so.  The  law 
yers  were  at  work  in  the  city.  Documents,  with  great  seals, 
were  in  preparation.  Vile  inventions,  vulgarly  denominated 
writs  and  declarations,  were  getting  in  readiness.  Malice  was 
keen  in  its  work,  and  law,  with  solemn  brow  and  sable  gown, 
was  pliant  —  ready  to  give  the  demon  all  necessary  help.  Stately 
and  serious  letters  had  been  brought  to  Porgy,  from  dignitaries 
yclept  attorneys-at-law.  He,  too,  had  written  solemn,  serious, 
stately  letters,  to  the  same  class  of  persons.  These  parties 
had  benevolently  arrayed  themselves  on  both  sides  of  the  ques 
tion,  in  order,  perhaps,  that  justice,  like  any  other  fat  body  try 
ing  two  stools,  should  fall  equally  between ;  and  Porgy,  on  the 
one  hand,  and  M'Kewn  on  the  other,  were  looking  to  what  was 
termed,  "The  Fall  Term,"  for  results  more  serious  than  any 
fall  of  the  leaves  known  to  either.  M'Kewn  confidently  calcu 
lated  on  having  his  claims,  in  cash  and  character,  equally  satis 
fied  ;  but  he  had  moments  of  misgiving  and  apprehension,  which 


402  WOODCRAFT. 

were  usually  betrayed  by  brief  and  expressive  oaths,  and  adjura 
tions,  at  the  expense  of  persons  of  both  the  sexes. 

"That  d d  prying  widow!  If  I  only  knew!  That  ras 
cally  ruffian,  Bostwick  —  were  I  sure  that  he  is  feeding  the  sharks 
at  the  bottom  of  the  sea ! " 

Unfortunately,  the  sea  refused  thus  far  to  give  up  its  secrets, 
and  the  prying  widow  was  quite  as  close  as  she  was  curious. 
She  seemed  quite  able  to  keep  hers !  The  Scotchman  got  noth 
ing  by  his  curses.  Whether,  like  chickens,  they  were  destined  to 
return  home  for  roosting,  is  yet  to  be  seen. 

In  certain  respects,  the  summer  was  auspicious  to  all  the  par 
ties.  M'Kewn's  overseer  made  him 'a  good  crop;  Fordham  did 
the  same  thing  for  the  widow  Eveleigh;  while  Millhouse,  as  if 
fate  had  studied  to  justify  all  his  boasts,  succeeded  in  beating 
both  of  them,  in  proportion  to  the  force  he  managed.  Never 
had  such  a  crop  been  seen  at  Glen-Eberley.  The  season  had 
been  a  very  favorable  one,  and  Millhouse  had  shown  indefatiga 
ble  industry,  and  a  very  correct  judgment;  but  he  probably  owed 
a  good  deal  to  the  fact  that  the  lands  of  Glcn-Eberley  had  been 
so  long  rested.  Harvest-time  came  on  under  good  auspices,  and 
the  sheaves  were  heavy  with  the  golden  grain.  Great  was  the 
swangering  of  Sergeant  Millhouse,  as,  with  his  brother  overseers, 
he  viewed  the  result.  He  had  engaged  in  a  friendly  contest 
with  Fordham  and  Ely  the  wood  (the  overseer  of  M'Kewn),  and 
they  yielded  the  palm  of  victory  to  the  sergeant,  with  good  humor, 
and  literally  "acknowledged  the  corn."  Porgy  was  pleased, 
of  course;  and  Millhouse  required  him  to  acknowledge  his  satis 
faction,  and  do  justice  to  his  particular  genius,  almost  nightly. 
But,  even  the  sergeant's  pride  and  pleasure  bore  no  sort  of  pro 
portion  to  the  same  feelings  in  the  bosoms  of  his  negroes.  They 
showed  their  triumph  in  greater  degree  than  any  other  parties. 
It  was  their  labor  that  had  brought  out  the  genius  of  Millhouse 
—  it  was  their  crop  that  had  put  to  shame  the  negroes  of  the 
rival  plantations.  Porgy  gave  them  a  great  pork  supper  after 
the  harvesting,  while  the  bets  of  the  sergeant,  with  his  oppo 
nents,  resulted  in  his  obtaining  one  also,  at  their  expense,  in 
which  Jamaica  occupied  a  place  as  distinguished  as  pork,  and 
which  kept  busy  the  party  of  a  dozen  —  the  number  present  — 
through  the  hours  of  a  goodly  Saturday  night;  the  dawn  of 


SUMMARY   OF   THE   EVENTS   OF   THE   SUMMEK.         403 

Sunday  looking  in  upon  them  at  their  feast,  before  they  were  quite 
satisfied  to  think  it  finished. 

The  profits  of  Captain  Porgy  afforded  no  satisfaction  to  M'Kewn, 
except  so  far  as  they  promised  better  spoils  when  they  should 
fall  into  his  clutches.  If  he  rejoiced  in  the  result,  it  was  with  no 
benevolent  feeling;  but  rather  with  the  vindictive  thought  of  the 
deeper  disappointment  and  mortification  of  his  victim,  whom  he 
should  thus  topple  and  overthrow  from  a  greater  height  and  hope, 
which  this  good  fortune  should  encourage.  He  felt  secure 
of  his  prey,  unless  in  one  event,  and  this  he  labored  in  a  secret 
way  to  defeat.  This  subject  of  his  apprehension  was  the  mar 
riage  of  Porgy  with  the  widow  Eveleigh.  He  was  quite  aware 
of  the  frequent  visits  of  the  captain  to  the  widow,  and  he  con 
jectured  the  object  of  these  visits  with  much  more  certainty  than 
Porgy  could  determine  it.  He,  himself,  would  have  had  no 
objection  to  taking  the  widow  to  wife ;  but  he  had  common  sense 
enough  to  see  that,  with  her  present  prejudices  against  him,  the 
thing  was  impossible.  But  he  was  a  hopeful  person,  and  did  not 
despair,  if  time  were  allowed  him,  of  removing  these  prejudices. 
At  all  events,  it  was  his  policy  to  prevent  the  success  of  the 
captain.  To  this  he  addressed  himself  in  sundry  ways,  one  of 
which,  and  the  most  likely  to  be  successful,  was  through  her  son, 
Arthur. 

We  have  seen  that  his  first  approaches  to  the  young  man  had 
been  unsuccessful.  For  a  time  they  continued  so ;  but  persever 
ance  will  remove  mountains  quite  as  certainly  as  fate;  youth  is 
flexible,  indulgent,  and  easily  persuaded,  where  much  solicitude 
is  showrn  to  gain  it;  and  graduaHy  M'Kewn  found  his  way  to 
the  ears  of  Arthur.  He  contrived,  without  seeming  effort,  to 
meet  the  lad  frequent!}'',  when  he  rode  out  or  rambled  in  the 
woods.  He  was  always  particularly  deferential  to  him,  and  thus 
adroitly  appealed  to  the  vanities  of  youth.  Gradually,  the  slight 
barriers  which  the  mother's  prejudices  had  raised  up  in  his  mind, 
against  his  neighbor,  were  broken  down.  Finally,  M'Kewn  per 
suaded  him  to  accept  a  beautiful  English  pointer.  The  widow 
was  greatly  chagrined  that  he  did  so,  and  Arthur  himself  was 
disposed  to  regret  it,  when  he  found  his  mother  so  much  fretted ; 
but  the  thing  was  done :  and  the  result  was,  that  the  son,  after  a 
while,  began  to  combat  the  prejudices  of  his  mother  against  the 


404  WOODCRAFT. 

Scotchman,  and  to  declare  that  lie  always  found  him  a  marvellous 
proper  man.  The  widow  became  a  little  angry,  and  the  young 
man  a  little  insubordinate.  Unfortunately,  she  could  not  venture 
to  convey  all  her  suspicions  to  him,  of  M'Kewn's  agency  with  the 
outlaws,  and  with  the  robbery  of  her  negroes,  so  that  all  she 
could  exhibit  was  her  naked  and,  seemingly,  unreasoning  hostil 
ity,  which  Arthur  was  old  enough  to  see  Licked  obvious  justifica 
tion.  It  was  additionally  unlucky  that,  recently,  the  cares  and 
anxieties  of  ~Ffi(}gy  had  rendered  him  a  somewhat  cloudy  com 
panion  for  the  young  man,  while  the  marriage  and  withdrawal  of 
Lance  Frampton,  had  taken  from  him  one  of  the  chief  inducements 
for  his  visits  to  Glen-Eberley. 

Under  these  circumstances,  M'Kewn  enjoyed  favorable  oppor 
tunities  which  he  never  allowed  to  escape  him.  Gradually,  and 
when  in  some  measure  he  had  won  the  ears  of  the  youth,  he 
suffered  himself  to  speak  of  the  affairs  of  Porgy  —  of  his  reck 
lessness  (if  character,  and  his  associates;  his  debts;  and  went 
so  far  as  to  indulge  in  some  sneers  at  his  mammoth  dimensions, 
his  amplitude  of  abdomen,  and  the  enormous  appetite  in  which 
he  was  supposed  to  indulge.  When  he  found,  after  a  while,  that 
these  jests  and  sneers,  provoked  the  young  man's  smiles,  he  felt 
encouraged.  His  next  labor — a  more  delicate  one,  but  which  he 
pursued  with  as  much  art  as  diligence  —  was  to  convey  to  the 
youth  a  notion  of  what  he  supposed  to  be  the  object  of  Porgy  in 
his  visits  to  his  mother.  He  insinuated  the  idea,  so  formidable  to 
a  young  man  of  self-esteem,  of  a  despotic  father-in-law;  then 
hinted  at  the  wraste  of  property  to  supply  the  appetite,  or  repair 
the  ruined  fortunes  of  profligate ;  and  then,  in  immediate  sequence, 
he  would  turn  to  Progy,  and  make  a  ludicrous  portrait  of  his  un 
wieldy  figure. 

The  youth  was  slow  to  receive  the  revelation  so  gradually 
made ;  but,  at  length,  it  unfolded  itself  fully  before  the  eyes  of 
his  mind,  and  then,  a  great  many  things,  hitherto  strange  in  his 
past  experience,  became  clear  to  his  understanding.  He  could 
now  comprehend  the  impudent  language  and  manner  of  Mill- 
House,  when  the  party  dined  with  his  mother,  already  described 
and  which  then  provoked  his  wonder.  As  a  matter  of  course 
his  indignation  was  aroused,  and  the  chief  force  of  it  fell  upon 
the  captain.  But  the  suggestions  of  M'Kewn,  as  they  were  de- 


SUMMARY  OF  THE  EVENTS  OF  THE  SUMMER.    405 

signed,  led  him  farther,  led  him  to  thimk  somewhat  harshly  of 
his  mother,  and  suspiciously  of  her  motives  in  aiding  the  cap 
tain.  That  she  should  sympathize  with  Porgy,  encourage  his 
visits,  aid  him  with  loans  of  money,  receive  him  with  so  much 
welcome,  show  herself  so  solicitous  of  his  comforts,  were  all  as 
cribed  to  her  own  secret  attachment  to  the  man,  and  argued  the 
probability  that  she  would  finally  lift  him  into  the  lordship  of  the 
household;  an  idea  which  Arthur  Eveleigh  found  quite  insup 
portable.  The  moment  that  this  apprehension  was  forced  upon 
him,  he  hurried  home  full  of  aroused  feelings  which  he  neither 
could,  nor  desired  to,  suppress.  This  happened  at  a  moment 
of  some  importance.  He  found  Captain  Porgy  closeted  with  his 
mother,  evidently  discussing  some  matter,  which  seemed  of  mu 
tual  interest.  Perhaps  it  may  be  well  to  account  for  the  present 
interview. 

As  we  have  shown,  the  time  was  ripening  fast  for  the  consum 
mation  of  M'Kewn's  legal  projects  for  the  ruin  of  his  debtor. 
The  summer  had  past:  the  fatal  "Fall  Term"  had  come;  the 
courts  were  in  session;  and  at  length  there  were  decrees,  and 
judgments.  Porgy  was  advised  by  his  lawyers  that  danger  was  at 
hand ;  and  that  he  might  soon  reasonably  look  to  see  hawks  abroad. 
He  had  been  warned  also  that  his  case  could  not  be  helped,  that 
judgment  could  not  long  be  averted.  He,  accordingly,  pre 
pared  himself,  as  well  as  he  could,  to  fold  his  robes  about  him 
and  die  with  decency.  There  were  some  preliminary  perform 
ances  which  he  felt  to  be  absolutely  necessary  to  his  peace  of  mind. 
In  order  to  attend  to  one  of  these,  he  summoned  Tom  to  his 
presence. 

"Tom,"  said  he,  "put  on  your  best  clothes.  I  want  you  to 
ride  over  with  me  to  Mrs.  Eveleigh." 

Tom  was  soon  becomingly  equipped.  The  master  and  man 
were  soon  mounted;  and,  on  the  way,  the  captain  opened  the 
business  upon  which  he  was  bent,  to  his  favorite  cuinnier. 

"Tom." 

"Sah!" 

"You  are  still  a  tolerably  young  fellow." 

"Ha!  maussa,  enty  I  bin  know  dat." 

"You  have  no  wife,  but  you  will  be  thinking  of  one  some  of 
these  days." 


406  WOODCKAFT. 

"Lawd  ha'  mussy;  we  does  we  bes',  but  who  kin  tell  wha' 
guine  happen  to  um  next  day  and  to-morrow?" 

"True,  Tom,  who  knows!  You  will  get  a  wife,  you  will  prob 
ably  have  a  family,  and  you  might  be  happy  for  a  great  many 
years,  if  your  life  were  spared  so  long." 

"Da's  true,  maussa." 

"I  don't  wish  to  shorten  your  life,  Tom — ' 

"Wha' maussa!" 

"  I  wish  to  see  you  live  as  long  as  God  will  let  you — " 

"To  be  sure;  t'ank  you,  maussa!  " 

' '  But,  Tom,  if  I  am  to  see  you  live  as  the  slave  of.  that  scoun 
drel,  M'Kewn,  I  should  rather  you  were  dead.  Now,  Tom,  I  must 
either  sell  you  to  Mrs.  Eveleigh,  or  shoot  you." 

"Shoot  me  Tom!  Oh!  git  out,  maussa,  da's  all  only  you'  ole 
foolish  talk.  Tom  aint  for  shoot." 

"Then  I  must  sell  you,  Tom,  or  M'Kewn  will  have  you." 

"Ha!  I  tek'  de  swamp  fuss !  I  nebber  guine  lib  wid  dat  crook- 
eye  Scotchman. 

"Better  live  with  Mrs.  Eveleigh." 

"I  no  so  much  lub  for  lib  wid  woman,  nodder,  maussa.  Wo 
man,  maussa,  is  a  most  too  hard  'pon  nigger.  Wha'  for  I  must  be 
sell?" 

"  I  owe  M'Kewn  money  —  the  sheriff  will  seize  you  if  you  be 
long  to  me.  I  wish  Mrs.  Eveleigh  to  buy  you,  to  keep  you  out  of 
his  clutches ;  and  if  I  am  ever  able  to  buy  you  back  from  her,  I 
will  do  so.  Meanwhile,  I  will  hire  you  from  Mrs.  Eveleigh." 

Such  was  Porgy's  scheme,  by  which  to  save  his  favorite.  Tom, 
for  a  long  time,  failed  to  see  the  merits  of  it;  but,  silenced  at 
length,  if  not  satisfied,  he  followed  his  master,  with  a  very  gloomy 
aspect,  to  the  residence  and  the  presence  of  the  widow.  There, 
our  captain  of  partisans  made  a  frank  showing  of  his  fears,  his 
wishes  —  Tom  being  in  the  presence  all  the  while. 

"Pinckney  writes  that  nothing  can  be  done  to  avert  this 
judgment  —  that  it  must  take  effect  —  that  the  lien  upon  the 
lands  is  perfect  —  that  judgment  upon  the  unliquidated  accounts, 
once  entered,  will  bind  all  the  slave  property  and  moveabies 
subject  only  to  your  mortgage,  and  that  that  mortgage  will  not 
prevent  the  &ale_  Tom,  Mrs.  Eveleigh,  I*  the  only  one  of  my 
negroes  not  covered  by  your  mortgage.  I  hesitated  to  forego 


SUMMAKY    OF   THE    EVENTS   OF   THE  SUMMER.         407 

my  entire  control  over  his  destinies,  as  it  was  my  purpose  always 
that  Tom  should  never  be  the  slave  of  any  man  but  myself. 
I  should  free  him  this  hour,  if  this  were  possible  ;  but  Piuckney 
writes  that  such  grunt  of  freedom  would  not  avail  against 
existing  debts  and  creditors.  But  I  may  make  a  lona-fiih  sale 
of  him,  Mrs.  Eveleigh,  and  I  propose  to  do  so  to  you.  You  will 
give  me  a  hundred  guineas  for  him,  with  the  understanding 
between  us  that  I  am  to  hire  him  from  you  at  fair  wages,  and  that 
}TOU  will  sell  him  back  to  me,  on  the  same  terms,  when 
ever  I  shaJl  feel  able  to  repurchase  him.  Should  I  never  do  this, 
my  dear  madam,  I  shall  still  feel  some  consolation  that  I  have  kept 
toy  vow — to  sell  him  to  no  other  man  —  and,  in  selling  him  to  a 
woman,  I  sell  him  to  one  whom  I  esteem  the  very  first  among  her 
sex. 

Here  Tom  put  in. 

"You  buy  me,  Miss  Eb'leigh,  I  good  sarbant  to  yer.  You'se  a 
lady.  Yer  wha'  maussa  say.  He's  berry  much  trouble  dese  times, 
and  don't  know  wha'  for  do!  You  kin  help  'em.  Help  'em,  an'  I 
berry  much  'blige  to  you,  ma'am.  Ef  you  buy  me,  I  promise  you 
I  guine  tek'  care  ob  you,  same  as  I  tek'  care  of  maussa, — When 
Tom  say  he  guinc  be  good  sarbent,  you  kin  do  no  better  dan  buy 
'um." 

"I  believe  you,  Tom,  said  the  lady,  kindly,  "  and  I  think  I  may 
safely  promise  you  to  be  an  indulgent  mistress.  You  may  go  home 
now,  Tom,  and  consider  yourself  as  belonging  to  me.  I  shall  ar 
range  all  with  your  master." 

"T'ank  you,  missis,  and  de  Lawd  pour  down  de  blessing 'pon 
you  'tell  you  beg  him  for  stop,  you  own  se'f.  God  bress  you,  missis, 
an'  a  berry  good  mornin'  to  you." 

"Thank you,  Tom.     Good-by  to  ye." 

And  with  a  grasp  of  the  hand  of  his  late  master,  and  a  bow  to  his 
new  mistress,  Tom  disappeared,  and  proceeded  to  canter  back  to 
Glen-Eberley. 

Porgy  had  prepared  and  brought  with  him  the  necessary  bill 
of  sale.  He  had  signed  it  in  the  presence  of  Lance  Frampton, 
the  night  before.  The  widow  asked  if  he  did  not  desire  any 
written  engagement  from  her,  to  resell  the  negro  to  him,  accord 
ing  to  their  private  understanding ;  but,  with  his  usual  indiffer 
ence  to  his  own  securities,  the  captain  declined  it.  The  lady  gave 


408  WOODCltAiT. 

him  an  order  upon  the  city  for  a  hundred  guineas,  and  received, 
and  put  away,  the  bill  of  sale.  The  wages  of  Tom  while  he  re 
mained  in  the  service  of  his  former  owner  were  then  easily 
adjusted ;  and  the  parties  were  still  engaged  in  conversation,  the 
captain  very  low  in  spirits,  and  the  lady,  with  a  judicious  delicacy, 
striving  to  soothe  and  conciliate  him,  when  Arthur  Eveleigh  bounced 
into  the  room. 


CHAPTER  LV. 

THE   WIDOW   AND   HER   SON. 

A  SINGLE  glance  at  the  young  man  sufficed  to  show  that  he 
was  greatly  out  of  humor.  He  spoke  with  bare  civility,  and  no 
cordially,  to  his  ancient  friend,  the  captain.  The  widow  regarded 
her  son  with  anxious  and  reproachful  eyes,  which  he  retorted 
with  such  looks  of  evident  suspicion  and  bad  feeling  as  to  con 
found  and  disquiet  her.  Porgy  saw  that  something  was  wrong, 
but  had  no  notion  Jhat  he  was  a  party  to  the  provocation.  He 
spoke  to  Arthur  in  the  old  language  of  familiarity  and  affection, 
but  without  perceiving  any  very  grateful  effect  from  it.  The  young 
man  had  came  in  with  his  fowling-piece  and  birdiug  equipments, 
which  suggested  to  Porgy  the  proper  subject  for  talking  with 
him. 

"  Why  do  you  not  look  for  your  birds  at  Glen-Eberley,  Arthur  ? 
It  is  a  full  month  since  you  have  paid  me  a  visit.  The  partridges  are 
in  abundance.  You  can  scarcely  walk  anywhere  without  flushing 
them." 

"  I  need  not  go  off  the  place  here,  sir,  to  seek  for  birds ;  Avhen 
I  do,  I  find  them  in  as  much  abundance,  at  Mr.  M'Kewn's,  as  I 
desire." 

"JVI'Kewn!"  said  Porgy  and  was  silent. 

"I  wish,  my  son,"  remarked  the  lady,  "that  you  would  seek 
your  birds  in  any  other  quarter." 

"And  I  don't  see  why,  mother.  Mr.  M'Kewn  is  very  civil  to 
me." 


THE    WIDOW    AND    II  KU    SON.  4i)\} 

''There  are  some  civilities  which  I  am  half  inclined  to  regard  as 
injuries,"  said  the  lady,  gravely;  "but  it  should  be  enough  for  you, 
my  son,  that  I  have  expressed  my  wishes.  My  objections  to  this 
man  —  " 

"Unless  there  be  good  reasons  for  them,  mother — 

"Of  the  goodness  of  my  reasons,  my  son,  you  should  allow  me 
to  be  the  judge,  without  requiring  rnc  to  show  what  they  are. 
It  ought  to  be  sufficient  for  you  that  I  have  expressed  my 
wishes — " 

"Your  wishes!  Ah!  but  have  you  expressed  tliern?"  was  the  pert 
response,  and  something  of  a  sneer  upon  his  lips. 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  Arthur.  You  certainly  have  heard 
from  me  the  repeated  wish  that  you  should  have  as  little  communion 
with  this  man,  as  was  not  absolutely  unavoidable." 

"And  I  don't  see  why,  mother.  Mr.  M'Kewn  seems  quite  as 
much  of  the  gentleman  as  most  men  I've  seen,"  replied  the  youth, 
petulantly,  and  looking  at  Porgy. 

"You  have  been  unfortunate,  my  son;  or,  wrhich  is  more  likely, 
you  are  scarcely  yet  a  sufficient  judge  of  the  subject,  or  a,  sufficient 
discriminator  of  persons." 

"Perhaps  not,"  said  the  fiery  youth,  his  face  reddening;  "but, 
mother — " 

Here  he  paused  abruptly,  and  with  evident  effort  restrained  him 
self.  Porgy  at  this  moment  rose.  His  manner  was  mild,  calm  and 
dignified;  a  little  touched  with  sorrow.  He  felt  that  lie  was  in  at  the 
beginning  of  something  like  a  scene,  and  he  had  no  taste  for  it,  or 
curiosity  to  witness  its  close. 

"Mrs.  Eveleigh,  suffer  me  once  more  to  thank  you  for  your 
kindness.  I  shall  remember  with  gratitude  what  you  have  done 
for  me.  I  will  trespass  no  longer.  Good- by,  ma'am  —  good- 
by;"  and  he  shook  her  hand  warmly.  "Arthur,  I  am  half 
tempted  to  regret  that  you  can  find  your  birds  at  any  other  point 
than  Glen-Eberley.  We  can  afford  you  friend*  there  as  well  as 
birds;  and  such  friends  as  will  never  desert  you  when  the  battle's 
coming  on." 

To  this  the  youth  had  no  answer.  He  gave  his  hand  sullenly 
to  the  captain,  who  looked  at  him  kindly  and  curiously,  but  with 
a  smile  that  seemed  to  say,  "I  understand  all  your  difficulty,  my 
boy,"  but,  beyond  his  farewell,  he  had  no  more  words  to  say.  The 

18 


410  WOODCRAFT. 

widow  would  have  persuaded  him  to  stay  to  dinner,  but,  glancing 
significantly  from  her  to  her  son,  he  declined  the  invitation.  He  did 
instinctively  understand  the  case  of  Arthur  Eveleigh.  Riding  out 
of  the  avenue  he  muttered  to  himself:  "The  foolish  boy!  That 
scoundrel,  M'Kewn,  has  been  poisoning  his  ears.  I  should  not  be 
surprised  if  the  rascal  had  been  telling  him  that  I  was  courting  his 
mother." 

He  meditated  sadly  as  he  rode.  "What  a  pitfall,  what  a  thing 
of  snares,  of  serpents,  and  sorrows,  is  this  miserable  life.  How 
the  devil  hangs  upon  the  footsteps  of  innocence,  turn  whither  it  will, 
ready  to  delude,  to  defraud,  to  degrade,  to  destroy.  Here  is  this 
youth,  just  as  he  begins  to  drink  of  the  better  and  purer  sweets  of 
life,  the  fiend  drops  his  malignant  poison  into  the  bowl,  embittering 
the  taste  as  well  as  the  draught  —  and  shaping  the  whole  future 
career  for  sin  and  sorrow.  I  had  taken  a  great  liking  to  that  bo}>-. 
He  could  have  made  a  noble  fellow.  But,  he  looks  upon  me  as  an 
enemy.  He  looks  upon  his  own  mother  with  suspicion.  It  has 
needed  but  a  mean  cunning  on  the  part  of  this  miserable  wretch, 
M'Kewn,.  to  make  him  turn  upon  his  natural  and  best  allies. 
Heaven  help  us,  for  with  the  devil  at  our  elbow,  with  foes  among 
those  who  surround  us,  and  the  vices  and  vanities  at  our  own  hearts 
to  second  their  labors,  unless  Heaven  help  us  in  season,  and  with 
all  its  angels,  hope  and  humanity  stand  but  a  poor  chance  for  happi 
ness." 

The  subject  offered  a  fruitful  matter  for  reflection  after  he  got 
home,  which  a  draught  of  Jamaica  with  the  sergeant,  and  a  long  dis 
sertation  from  that  person,  cle  omnibus  rebus,  etc.,  failed  wholly  to 
arrest  or  dissipate.  We  must  leave  him  to  its  indulgence  while  we 
return  to  the  widow's,  curious  to  see  that  issue  between  herself  and 
son,  which  Porgy  preferred  to  escape.  She  was  not  slow  to  approach 
the  subject. 

"My  son,  you  have  behaved  very  strangely,  very  coldly,  almost 
rudely,  to  Captain  Porgy.  May  I  know  what  he  has  done  to  occasion 
this  treatment?" 

"I  don't  see  that  he  deserves  any  other,"  was  the  dogged  reply. 

"Indeed,  Arthur,  this  is  a  very  singular  change  of  feeling  and 
opinion.  A  month  or  two  ago,  you  were  so  perpetually  over  at  Glen- 
Eberley  that  I  feared  you  might  wear  out  the  welcome  you  received- 
now  —  " 


THE   WIDOW   A^D   HER   tiON.  411 

"I  went  then  to  hunt  with  Lieutenant  Frainpton." 

"But  you  also  hunted  with  the  captain,  and  your  report  was 
always  singularly  favorable  in  respect  to  hint.  You  have  evidently 
nothing  kind  or  cordial  in  your  feelings  toward  him  now;  and,  as  I 
trust  you  will  never  allow  yourself  to  be  guilty  of  any  mean  evasion 
of  the  truth,  I  hope  that  you  will  frankly  inform  me  as  to  what  has 
caused  that  change  in  your  conduct,  which  is  sufficiently  apparent  to 
him  as  well  as  to  me." 

"But  I  want  to  know,  mother,  why  it  is  that  you  are  so  anxious 
that  I  should  be  on  good  terms  with  this  Captain  Porgy." 

"  I  am  anxious  that  you  should  be  just  and  honorable,  my  son;  not 
mean,  or  captious;  net  capricious  and  unprincipled." 

"  I  don't  see  how  I  should  be  either,  only  because  I  do  not  like 
him." 

"Unless  you  have  a  good  reason  to  justify  your  dislike,  you  must 
be  all  of  these,  Arthur.  We  owe  Captain  Porgy  a  great  and  vital 
service  —  " 

"We  owe  just  as  much  to  Lieutenant  Frampton,  and  the  one- 
fisted  sergeant,  mother." 

"That  may  be,  but  that  doesn't  lessen  our  obligations  to  him." 

"  At  least,  they  do  not  presume  upon  their  services." 

"  I  am  yet  to  know  that  he  does." 

"What  does  he  come  here  so  frequently  for,  then? " 

"  I  suppose  he  finds  some  pleasure  in  doing  so." 

"  Ah!  and  you  find  pleasure  in  it,  too,  mother?  " 

There  was  was  an  increasing  color  in  the  widow's  cheeks,  as  she 
met  the  gaze  and  heard  the  significant  inquiry  of  the  forward  boy, 
but  she  answered  him  very  quietly  — 

"Certainly;  I  find  Captain  Porgy  a  very  pleasant  associate. 
I  know  few  gentlemen  whose  conversation  is  so  sensible  and 
interesting." 

"Gentleman!  he  looks  very  much  like  a  gentleman  with  that 
great  paunch  of  his,  large  as  a  rice-barrel." 

"Stop,  Arthur;  I  must  not  suffer  this  sort  of  language  in  my 
hearing.  You  forget  yourself,  my  son;  you  forget  what  is  due 
to  me,  and  to  this  worthy  but  unfortunate  man.  I  shall  say  no 
more  of  what  we  owe  him  for  saving  your  mother  from  indignity, 
and  possibly  from  death,  since  you  do  not  seem  sufficiently  to 
comprehend  the  extent  or  value  of  this  service  It  is  enough. 


4lxJ  WOODCKAFT. 

that  I  require  you  to  forbear  such  rude  language  of  one  whom  I  am 
pleased  to  honor  as  my  friend  and  neighbor." 

"  Is  he  going  to  be  content,  mother,  with  being  friend  and  neigh 
bor?  Does  he  aim  at  nothing  farther?  Is  he  not  borrowing  all  your 
money  to  pay  for  his  extravagances?  Is  he  not  —  " 

"Stop,  once  more,  my  son!  Am  I  to  understand,  Arthur,  that 
you  suppose  yourself  likely  to  lose  the  money  which  I  lend  to 
Captain  Porgy?" 

"I  don't  see  what  else  will  follow",  living  as  he  does,  and  having 
to  pay  off.  his  old  debts." 

' '  You  have  been  listening  to  an  enemy,  Arthur.  But  let  me 
disabuse  you.  It  is  not  possible  that  you  or  I  shall  lose  anything 
by  the  loans  made  to  Captain  Porgy.  These  are  all  sufficiently 
secured  by  mortgage;  the  papers  drawn  up  by  Colonel  Pinckney, 
who  assures  me  that  the  debt  is  perfectly  secure.  We  get  legal 
interest  on  the  money,  and,  so  far,  Captain  Porgy,  is,  perhaps,  less 
under  obligations  to  me  than  I  am  to  him.  If  your  cause  of  disquiet 
contemplates  nothing  beyond  this,  you  may  reasonably  dismiss  it 
from  your  mind;  but  there  is  something  farther,  Arthur.  The  evil 
spirit  wTho  has  found  his  wray  to  your  ear,  has  never  been  content 
with  so  meagre  a  scheme  of  doing  mischief.  Let  me  hear  all  that 
disturbs  you,  my  son;  keep  nothing  back;  I  would  rather  you  should 
pain  me  directly  to  the  core,  than  leave  me  to  apprehend  that  you 
entertain  thoughts  and  feelings  in  secret,  which  you  dare  not  unfold 
to  your  mother." 

The  youth  seemed  for  a  moment  uneasy.  He  strode  hurriedly  off 
to  a  window,  and  seemed  to  look  out.  The  widow  calmly 
awaited  him,  without  seeming  to  observe  his  motions.  After  a 
pause,  he  wheeled  about  suddenly,  approached  her,  and  as  if  he 
had  brought  himself  to  the  proper  point  of  determination,  he 
said :  — 

"  I  ask  you,  mother,  if  you  think  that  Captain  Porgy  comes  here 
only  when  he  wants  company  or  money?  I  want  you  to  tell  me  if 
you  think  he  has  not  some  other  purpose?  Speak  candidly,  mother, 
as  you  ought  to  speak  to  me,  and  as  I  have  a  right  to  expect  that  you 
will  speak." 

The  mother  almost  sternly  surveyed  the  youth;  then,  with  rigid 
lips,  she  answered  — 

"We  may  think  differently,   Arthur,  about  our  mutual  rights 


THE   WIDOW   AKD   HER   SOtf.  413 

I  certainly  ought  not  to  be  required  to  account  for  the  secret  mo 
tives  of  action  of  Captain  Porgy  or  of  any  other  man.  Your  chal 
lenge  of  my  candor,  unless  you  have  some  imputation  upon  it,  is 
only  a  gratuitous  offence,  my  son.  At  your  age  and  mine,  there 
may  be  cases  when  it  would  not  be  proper  to  unfold  to  you  all 
my  thoughts  or  opinions.  Where  these  contemplate  the  character 
or  motives  of  other  persons,  I  should  be  wrong  in  doing  so.  If 
you  have  any  particular  question  to  put  to  me,  Arthur  Eveleigh, 
which  would  seem  to  be  the  case  from  what  jrou  do  say,  let  me  hear 
it,  and  if  it  is  proper  for  me  to  answer,  and  if  my  son  has  a  right  to 
make  the  question,  let  him  be  assured  that  I  shall  answer  with  the 
utmost  readiness." 

The  youth  hastily  strode  the  chamber.  He  was  evidently  re 
luctant,  half-ashamed,  to  betray  the  lurking  suspicions  in  his  mind. 
But,  at  length,  as  if  vexed  at  his  own  weakness,  he  paused,  stood 
erect,  and  pointing  to  a  splendid,  full  length  of  Major  Eveleigh, 
which  hung  against  the  wall  —  a  noble  figure,  in  the  prime  of  man 
hood,  and  garbed  in  the  rich  military  costume  of  Britain, —  he  cried 
out  with  a  burst  of  passion  — 

"That  is  my  father,  mother,  as  he  looked,  as  he  lived.  Can  it  be 
possible  that  you  mean  to  fill  his  place  with  such  a  person  as  this 
Captain  Porgy?" 

And  the  boy  looked  noble,  erect,  manly,  almost  magnificent, 
like  his  father,  as  he  uttered  the  passionate  inquiry.  Had  there 
been  sufficient  cause  for  his  question, —  had  the  widow  shown  herself 
weak,  frivolous,  wanton,  easily  accessible,  and  inclining  to  fling 
herself  away  upon  a  worthless  person  —  there  would  have  been 
something  very  admirable  in  his  bearing  and  position.  The  mother 
looked  at  him  a  moment,  her  face  pale  with,  indignation,  and  the 
tears  gushed,  all  at  once,  in  a  flood  from  her  eyes.  Through  them 
she  spoke,  with  impeutous  anger. 

"  Arthur  Eveleigh,  you  have  been  listening  to  that  devil  of 
mischief,  M'Kewn.  You  have  suffered  this  vile  Scotchman  to  fill 
your  ears  with  venomous  discourse.  You  have  meanly  permitted 
him  to  whisper  to  you  a  scandal  of  your  own  mother.  You  have 
basely  suffered  him  to  fill  your  heart  with  evil  thoughts  of  one  to 
whom  your  mother  owes  her  life  and  honor.  And  you  have  suffered 
this  wittingly.  You  were  warned  against  this  evil-minded  wretch. 
You  were  taught  to  regard  him  as  an  object  of  suspicion  and  dislike. 


414  WOODCRAFT. 

You  have  preferred  his  counsels  to  those  of  your  mother — to  those 
of  your  friend.  You  have  been  used  by  him  as  a  despicable  tool 
against  friend  and  mother.  Leave  me  for  the  present,  Arthur  Eve- 
leigh.  I  can  neither  speak  to  you,  nor  look  on  you,  with  a  proper 
calm  of  temper.  Leave  me." 

"But  mother  — 

The  young  man  was  aghast.  He  had  never  seen  his  mother  so 
fearfully  aroused  —  had  never  so  aroused  her  himself, —  and  now 
began  to  feel  that  he  had  unwisely  and  unbecomingly  trespassed. 

"Yet  stay,"  she  said,  "and  hear  farther,  Arthur  Eveleigh. — 
While  I  acknowledge  my  responsibilities  to  you,  as  your  mother, 
and  the  representative  of  your  father,  I  still  hold  an  independent 
relation  to  you  in  all  matters  which  concern  myself.  On  these, 
I  will  submit  to  no  dictation.  I  shall  be  the  mistress  of  my  own 
thoughts,  feelings,  and  sympathies,  as  far  as  it  lies  in  my  power 
to  be  so.  I  shall  account  to  you  in  no  respect,  unless  I  am  pleased 
and  prefer  to  do  so.  While  I  shall  never  feel  the  relations  be 
tween  your  late  father  and  myself  to  be  other  than  sacred  and 
very  precious,  if  it  should  seem  to  me  wise,  and  right,  and  grate 
ful  to  take  another  husband,  it  shall  be  my  own  will  that  I  shall 
consult  in  the  matter.  It  may  be  that  your  own  conduct  shall 
compel  me  to  this,  where  I  would  not  choose.  I  must  have  affec 
tions  and  sympathies  —  I  must  have  devotion  and  society — I 
must  love,  Arthur,  and  must  be  beloved  —  at  all  events,  I  must 
be  confided  in.  If  my  own  son  abandons  me  for  the  stranger  — 
if  he  prefers  the  counsel  of  the  serpent  against  which  I  have  warned 
him,  and  offends  me  with  the  rude  insolence  of  his  suspicions,  I 
must  seek  succor  elsewhere.  You  have  heard  me.  It  is  for  you  to 
determine.  Go  now;  yet  hear  me  :  go  not  to  this  man  M'Kewn.  I 
tell  you,  Arthur  Eveleigh,  that  you  must  make  your  choice  between 
this  evil  genius  and  your  mother.  I  must  cease  to  trust  you,  if  I 
find  you  put  any  trust  in  him." 

"Mother,  dear  mother!" 

He  rushed,  with  a  cry,  and  threw  his  arms  around  her. 

"Forgive  me,  dear  mother,  forgive  me! " 

He  clung  to  her,  sobbing  his  regrets  and  repentence  aloud. — She 
folded  him  fondly  to  her  arms. 

"Oh!  Arthur,  you  know  not  how  rude  a  blow  you  have  struck 
my  heart." 


THE   SHERIFF   IN    LIMBO.  -JIT) 

Just  then,  the  little  Dory  came  in,  and  with  looks  of  equal  ter 
ror  and  sympathy,  darted  to  them  both.  The  widow  laid  one 
hand  upon  the  head  of  the  child,  kissed  her  son,  and  freeing  her 
self  from  his  grasp,  hurried  out  of  the  chamber. 

"Oh!  Arthur,  what  is  the  matter?" 

"Only  I  have  been  very  foolish,  Dory,  and  have  made  my 
mother  vexed.'' 

"  But  you  are  sorry,  Arthur?  " 

"Very  sorry,  very." 

"  Then  God  will  forgive  you,  Arthur." 

"Ah!  if  I  could  only  forgive  myself,  Dory." 

"  But  you  will,  Arthur,  for  my  sake." 

"For  your  sake,  Dory?  —  well,  for  your  sake,  I  will  try, — but 
I  have  been  very,  very  foolish.  I  have  made  my  mother  very 
angry." 

"  She  will  forgive  you,  Arthur.     Go  to  her  now,  and  beg  her." 

"Not  now." 

"  Oh !  yes,  now !  I  want  her  to  forgive  you  before  I  go.  I 
am  going  home  this  evening,  you  know.  Mother  wants  me." 

"What  can  she  want  you  for.  You  are  better  here,  Dory. 
I  can't  do  without  you,  you  know.  You  must  stay  with  me." 

"  No,  Arthur;  I  must  go  and  work  for  mother." 

"Work!  Well,  I  will  go  home  with  you  and  help  you.  I'd 
rather  go  away  for  a  week,  Dory ;  I'm  so  ashamed  to  meet  my 
mother!" 


CHAPTER   LVI. 

THE   SHERIFF    IN    LIMBO. 

EVENTS  continued  to  ripen  fast.  Porgy's  visage  grew  gloomier 
with  their  progress,  and  a  stern  expression  settled  upon  his  fea 
tures.  He  smoked  and  drank  more  freely  than  ever.  His  con 
versation  grew  more  and  more  brief  daily.  He  heard  the  ser 
geant  without  heed,  and  seldom  responded,  except  by  a  brief  sar 
casm,  to  his  prolix  exhortations.  He  was  apprised  from  the  city 
that  his  danger  could  not  be  any  longer  averted  ;  that  there  was 


416  WOO  IK' RAIT. 

no  longer  any  .barrier  between  him  and  the  sheriff.  Col.  Pinckney 
wrote  him  an  affectionate  letter,  full  of  sympathy,  but  cutting  him 
off  from  all  farther  hope  of  escape.  Pinckney  did  not  stop  at 
this.  He  sought  the  sheriff,  who  was  a  well-known  army  man. 
of  good  nature,  something  of  a  humorist,  indeed,  and  with  quite 
a  friendly  regard  for  Porgy,  whom  he  had  met  more  than  once? 
during  the  war,  and  whom  he  very  well  knew.  The  object  of 
Pinckney  now  was  to  persuade  the  sheriff  to  as  much  indulgence 
as  possible.  To  "  do  his  spiriting  gently."  To  this  the  latter 
was  naturally  inclined.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  there  was  the 
impatient  creditor,  M'Kewn,  urging  the  rapid  execution  of  the 
proceedings.  The  law  !  The  law  !  He  claimed  the  benefit  of 
the  law  in  ifs  utmost  rigor,  and  waited,  with  intense  appetite  for 
the  news  of  the  execution  of  his  processes,  the  sale  of  the  lands 
of  Porgy,  and  the  seizure  of  the  negroes.  Pinckney  wrote  the 
captain  all  these  particulars.  He  had  tried  the  inflexible  creditor 
in  vain.  He  was  resolved  on  his  pound  of  flesh,  and  as  much 
blood  as  he  could  draw  along  with  it. 

Porgy  read  the  letter  to  Millhouse.  The  latter,  by  a  private 
despatch,  summoned  Lance  Framptou  to  the  council.  He  came 
over  to  Glen-Eberley  armed  to  the  teeth,  with  rifle  on  his  shoul 
der,  saber  at  his  side,  pistols  in  holster,  just  as  he  had  gone 
through  the  wars.  The  requisitions  of  the  sergeant  had  been  to 
this  effect.  He  had  expressly  enjoined  the  lieutenant  to  come 
in  war-fashion.  He  met  him  at  the  entrance,  armed  in  like 
manner,  though  not  on  horseback;  and  with  an  ominous  shaking 
of  the  head  and  the  hand,  in  answer  to  Frainpton's  inquiries,  he 
said  — 

"The  inimy  is  in  motion,  lieutenant;  we've  got  to  stand  an 
assault,  maybe  a  siege,  and  I  know'd  you  warn't  aguine  to  stand 
by  and  see  the  captain  bombarded  and  invaded,  without  being 
ready  to  jine  at  the  first  sound  of  the  trumpet.  You'll  see  the 
cappin's  mightily  changed  in  the  last  week.  He's  more  down  in 
the  mouth  than  I  ewr  seed  him.  He  kain't  talk,  and  when  a 
man  kain't  talk,  that's  been  so  used  to  it,  it's  about  the  worst 
sign  in  his  sarcumstances.  But,  don't  you  say  nothing  of  what 
you  sees.  Jest  you  listen  to  me,  and  when  I  pushes  on  one  p'int. 
be  ready  to  follow  up  the  push.  We  must  purtect  the  property 
from  the  inimy.  Ef  they  gits  the  place,  thar's  not  much  use  for 


THK    SITKKIFF    IN"    LIMBO.  417 

the  niggers,  and  ef  ihey  gits  the  niggers,  thar's  not  much  use  for 
the  place.  The  two  stands  together  pretty  much  like  gun  and 
gunpowder.  What's  the  use  of  the  gunpowder  if  thar's  no  gun, 
and  what's  the  use  of  the  gun  if  thar's  no  powder  ?  You  sees ! 
Now,  we  must  purtect  the  niggers  and  plantation  against  siege 
and  storm.  That's  the  first  needcessity  ;  the  next  is  to  open  the 
cappin's  eyes  to  the  needcessity  of  marrying  the  widow.  His 
sarcumstauces  ain't  to  be  put  off  any  longer.  We  must,  both  on 
us,  argufy  him  into  the  sense  of  this  needcessity." 

Having,  as  he  thought,  sufficiently  given  the  lieutenant  his 
cue,  the  latter  was  allowed  to  enter  the  dwelling,  and  to  sec  his 
old  commander.  He  found  Porgy  sombre  enough,  but  glad  to 
see  him.  He  put  on  a  cheerful  countenance  when  he  beheld  the 
youth,  gave  him  his  hand,  and,  for  a  little  while,  seemed  to  re 
cover  his  spirits.  But  Frampton  remarked  that,  though  the  enter- 
ed  the  room,  armed  cap-a-pie,  the  captain  never  seemed  to  ob 
serve  it ;  and  that,  even  while  he  spoke  to  him  of  familiar  things, 
and  with  a  smile  upon  his  face,  his  mind  yet  seemed  to  wander. 
After  a  while,  he  lap.sed  into  moody  silence,  never  once  taking 
the  pipe  from  his  mouth  in  the  course  of  half  an  hour,  even  though 
its  fires  had  gone  out.  The  lieutenant  took  his  place  in  the 
household  quietly,  as  if  he  had  never  left  it,  He  had  his  bed 
there  that  night.  After  supper,  Tom  being  warned  to  be  in 
attendance  as  an  auxiliary,  the  sergeant  opened  by  degrees  upon 
the  subject  of  embarrassment  before  them. 

"Ef  you  has  no  dejection,  cappin,  I  wish  you'd  read  to  the 
lieutenant  that  'ere  letter  of  Col.  Piuckney," 

"Oh!  to  be  sure.  You've  not  heard,  Lance,  that  the  Philis 
tines  are  about  to  descend  upon  us.  Writs  are  out,  and  execu 
tions,  levies,  and  arrests,  Ca  Sa's  and  Fi  Fa's  and  I  suppose  ne 
exeats,  and  whatever  other  diabolical  inventions  of  the  law  can 
be  brought  to  bear  upon  a  man  whom  the  devil  has  determined 
to  destroy.  I  told  you  of  my  fears  before  we  got  home.  I  was 
then  better  prepared .  for  the  disaster  than  I  am  now.  The  re 
spite  I  have  had,  the  restoration  of  my  negroes,  and  the  help  in 
money  afforded  me  by  Mrs.  Eveleigh,  have  helped  to  spo^  me 
for  vicissitudes ;  and,  in  getting  a  new  taste  of  my  old  mode  of 
life,  I  am  much  more  reluctant  than  ever  to  give  it  up.  But  the 
thing  seems  inevitable  now.  This  letter  of  Colonel  Pinckney 

18* 


418  WOODCRAFT. 

which  I  will  read  to  you,  will  show  you  how  the  land  lies,  and 
Irom  what  quarter,  and  in  what  force,  the  enemy  will  probably  make 
his  approaches." 

And  he  read  the  letter. 

"The  case,  you  see,  is  hopeless.  The  wolves  will  have  their 
victim.  Nothing  can  be  done." 

"  Well,  cappin,  I  doesn't  edzactly  see  that,  Here's  Lance, 
and  me  both,  and  Tom,  all  ready  to  have  a  fight  on  it.  and  beat 
off  the  inimy,  ef  they  don't  come  on  us  too  many  at  once.  We  three, 
and  you,  cappin  — 

"Pooh,  pooh,  sergeant!  That's  all  nonsense.  There's  no 
fighting  to  be  done  in  the  matter,  and  no  flying,  that  I  can  see. 
All  that  is  left  to  me  now,  or  is  likely  to  be  left  to  me,  is  my 
philosophy,  and  that  of  my  little  Frenchman.  I  am  trying  to 
school  myself  to  the  trial  with  the  best  grace  in  the  world,  though 
by  the  powers,  if  a  good  fight  would  help  the  matter,  I'd  be 
pretty  quick  to  man  the  fortress;  but  that's  out  of  the  question. 
The  notion  of  the  sergeant  is  sirnpty  absurd.  The  case,  look  which 
ever  way  you  please,  is  absolutely  hopeless." 

"You're  clean  wrong;  jest  bekaise  you  refuses  to  look  the 
right  way.  Now,  I've  been  seeing  a  mighty  long  while  past, 
that  thar  was  a  way  of  saving  all,  and  blocking  the  game  on  the 
inimy,  and  that,  you  see,  was  jes'  by  coming  down  upon  the  widow 
Eb'leigh,  and  storming  her  premises.  I  show'd  you,  long  ago,  how 
a  widow  was  a  sort  of  post  which  had  been  afore  taken  by  the 
inimy,  and  so  was  to  be  taken  agi'n  ;  and  where  the  storming  was 
conducted  by  a  good  off'cer,  from  the  line  of  the  army,  that  the  tbing 
mout  be  done  easily.  This  widow  Eb'leigh,  now  — 

"Hush  up,  Millhouse.  No  more  of  that.  It  must  not  be 
thought  of.  How  will  it  look  for  me  —  I  who  have  been  borrowing 
the  widow's  money  —  to  propose  to  pay  my  debts  to  her,  by  making 
her  my  wife?" 

"And  the  most  ixcellentest  way  for  settling  a  debt  that  ever  was 
invented  on  this  airth." 

"  Why,  man,  I've  gone  to  her  as  a  beggar.  I  owe  her  six 
hundred  guineas.  Shall  I  go  to  her  and  offer  her  payment  in  a 

bankrupt  husband  ?" 

"But  ef  she  likes  you,  cappin,  won't  she  jump  at  it  ?" 
"Ah!  but  that  is  all  very  doubtful." 


THE    SHERIFF    IX    LIMBO.  419 

"A  man  what's  doubtful,  T  may  say,  is  a'most  d —  — <1  a'rcadv, 
Thar  must  not  be  no  doubt  when  you're  a-guine  to  storm  a  fortress. 
Now,  I  see  that  this  here  widow  is  a'most  ready  to  surrender  at  the 
first  blow  of  the  bugle.  I  knows  it  cappin  ;  I  sees  it  in  everything 
she  does  for  you,  and  in  every  look  she  gives  you  ;  and  the  best 
thing  you  can  do  is  jest  to  make  a  trial  of  the  sarcuinstances  of 
the  case." 

Porgy  shook  his  head. 

"Now,  don't  you  be  a-shaking  of  your  head  as  ef  thar  was 
nothing  in  it.  But  jest  you  hear  what  I'm  guine  to  ax  you.— 
S'posc,  now.  the  thing  is  jest  as  I'm  a-saying  it.  S'pose  she's  ready 
to  give  in  the  moment  you  are  ready  to  make  the  attack  ?  Won't 
you  be  a  most  bloody  fool  —  pardon  me,  cappin ;  I  doesn't  mean  to 
be  onrcspectful  —  but  I  ax,  won't  you  be  a  bloody  fool,  not  to  give 
her  a  chaince  to  surrender  handsome,  and  save  her  fcelin's,  and  save 
this  line  property,  and  save  your  niggers,  only  bekaise  you  are  so 
KDealy-mouthed.  Won't  you  feel  most  mean  and  vicious  and 
onhappy,  ef  so  be  you  keeps  hanging  off,  and  she  has  to  come  and 
pop  the  question  to  you  ?  I  declar',  cappin,  it  seems  a  most  pitiful 
and  cruel  thing  for  you  not  to  help  out  a  leetle,  by  jest  axing  her  in 
time  to  save  her  feelin's." 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  Delightful  !  Ton  my  soul,  Millhouse,  you  put 
the  ease  in  quite  a  new  and  striking  point  of  view.  You  think  I 
should  speak  in  time  to  prevent  the  widow  from  addressing  me,  and 
so  spare  her  blushes." 

"In  course,  I  does!  That's  jest  the  thing  —  spar'  her  blush^ 
es  !" 

"But,  suppose  she  were  to  propose  to  me,  and  I  were  to  —  refuse 
her  ? " 

"Lord  love  you  cappin,  and  be  merciful  to  your  onderstanding  ; 
but  you  wouldn't  be  so  unkind  and  outright  redickilous,  as  to  do 
that  —  and  after  all  that's  she's  been  a-doing  for  you." 

"It  would  be  rather  hard-hearted,  I  confess." 

"'Twould  be  most  monstrous  redickilous !  But,  cappin,  you 
musn't  wail  for  her  to  do  the  axing.  It  mout  be  she'd  come  arter 
a  while,  and  when  she  couldn't  stau'  keepin'  in  her  feelin's  any 
longer;  but  then  it  mout  be  —  it  would  be  —  too  late,  then  to  help 
your  sarcuinstances.  Ef  the  property  was  to  be  sold  by  the  sheriff, 
what  would  it  brinu',  I  want  to  know,  now,  when  thar's  so  little 


420  WOODCItAFT. 

money  guine  about.  Not  enough  by  half,  to  pay  this  warmint, 
M'Kewn.  But,  cf  'twas  only  on  account  of  the  lady,  it's  your 
business  to  speak  quick.  The  man  lias  no  right  to  keep  the  poor 
woman  a-waiting  on  him.  He  has  no  right  to  keep  a-thinking,  with 
pipe  in  his  mouth,  while  she's  a  weeping  and  pining  away  a-most  to 
nothin'." 

"But  I  don't  see  that  Mrs.  Eveleigh  shows  any  such  signs  of 
suffering,  Mill  house." 

"It's  all  innard,  cappin.  She's  got  too  proud  a  stomach,  to 
show  outside,  in  her  flesh  and  spirrits,  how  much  she  suffers  in 
nard  ly.  Many's  the  woman  that's  looked  fat  and  hearty,  while  her 
heart's  been  a-breakin  in  her  buz/uni.  I  don't  mean  to  say  that  the 
widow  Eb'leigh  is  so  far  gone,  cappin,  'kaisc,  you  see  -she's  had 
ixper'ence  in  heart  affairs,  being  a  widow ;  but  she's  got  her, 
feclin's  and  sufferin's,  cappin,  in  the  heart,  that  keeps  it  sore  and 
blecdin'  all  over,  though  it's  too  strong  to  break.  She  oughtn't  to 
hev'  any  sufferin's  and  bleediu's  at  all,  ef  so  be  3rou  kin  help  her ; 
and  I  say,  and  I'm  sure  on  it,  that  you  kin  help  her,  jes'  by  the 
same  thing  that  helps  you'self.  I'll  leave  it  to  the  lieutenant 
here,  and  to  Tom,  ef  they  don't  agree  with  me,  that  the  widow 
Eb'leigh  has  a  nateral  right  to  marry  you,  considerin'  your  sareum- 
stances. " 

Tom  nodded  his  head  affirmatively. 

"You  hab  for  marry  'em,  maussa.  He  bin  too  much  good  to 
you,  maussa.  You  can't  'scuse  'em  —  you  can't  'fuse  [refuse] 
'em.  You  hab  for  do  it ;  den  we  all  free  b'long  to  one  anudder, 
maussa." 

Frampton  was  of  opinion  that  the  proceeding  would  certainly 
relieve  the  captain  of  all  his  present  difficulties,  and  was  for  this 
reason  quite  advisable. 

"That's  it,  cappin!  considerin'  the  sarcumstances !  It's  the 
sarcunistances  you've  got  to  consider  ;  and  I  say  it  again,  considerin' 
them,  and  the  sarcumstanees  of  the  wido\v,  she's  got  a  nateral  right 
to  marry  you." 

"  but  have  I  any  natural  right  to  marry  her  ?  " 

' '  In  course  !  Ef  she's  got  a  right  to  you,  there's  no  help  for  it, 
and  you  must  jine  your  right  to  her'n.  You've  got  no  right 
to  refuse  to  hev'  her,  seein'  it's  her  needcessity  to  hev'  you;  and 
the  true  way  for  an  honest  man,  and  a  gentleman,  and  a  good 


THE    SHERIFF    IN   LIMBO.  421 

sodger,  is  to  put  it  to  her  manful,  at  once,  and  not  keep  her  a- 
waiting,  and  a  longing  and  a  sorrowin',  till  the  poor  woman  gets  sick 
from  her  needcessity." 

"  Really,  Millhouse,  you  make  a  new  case  of  it.  You  are  making 
it  clearly  a  duty  and  a  charity  that  I  should  marry  a  lady  of  fortune, 
and  so  save  myself  from  the  sheriff." 

"That's  the  how  !     That's  the  very  thing." 

"Now,  Millhouse,  if  I  could  only  he  sure  that  the  excellent  lady 
whom  you  so  freely  discuss,  labored  under  any  such  feelings  as  you 
describe  — ' 

"Aix  Lance  —  aix  Tom  !"  responded  the  sergeant,  appealing  to 
each  of  them  in  turn 

Lance  certainly  had  seen  the  very  favorable  glances,  which  the 
widow  had  cast  upon  the  captain. 

"  Sheep's  eyes,  they  calls  'em,  cappin,"  quoth  the  sergeant. 

Tom  gave  his  opinion  with  solemnity  and  confidence. 

"Miss  Eb'leigh  hab  eyes,  enty,  for  see,  maussa  ?  Well,  who  dat 
say  maussa  ain't  man  'nough  for  please  any  woman  ?  Da's  it !  I  see 
Jern  how  he  look  at  maussa.  He  fire  up,  he  mouth  'tan'  open  and 
sweet,  ant  when  he  talk  to  'em,  it's  jest  like  any  bud  [bird]  dah  sing 
to  'nudder  but,  and  axing  'em  wha'  for  we  kaiu't  bmT  nest  togedder 
dis  spring  ?  " 

"Well, "said  the  more  liberal  sergeant,  "'twould  be  all  mighty 
great  nonsence  to  talk  of  building  nests  in  spring,  when  here  we  are 
jest  on  the  edge,  as  I  may  say,  of  winter.  But  what  Tom  says 
wrould  be  quite  right,  ef  he'd  make  the  nest  buildin'  together  about 
Christmas.  I  like  a  marriage,  Christmas  time,  better  than  any  other; 
and  ef  the  cappin  does  the  right  thing,  like  a  man,  we'll  have  a 
raal  blow-out  this  coming  Christmas.  You've  hearn,  cappin.  Me, 
and  the  lieutenant,  and  Tom,  all  agrees  that  the  widow  looks 
on  you  with  mighty  sweet  eyes  ;  and  I  say  she's  got  a  nateral 
right  to  you,  and  you've  got  a  nateral  right  to  her ;  and  you  mu«t 
jiiie  your  rights,  and  give  us  a  blow  out  this  Christinas  and  ef 
the  sheriff,  or  M'Kewn,  or  any  other  warmint,  comes  sharking  about 
these  primises,  I've  got  a  nateral  right  to  give  him  a  h — 11  of  a 
licking,  and  I'll  hev'  my  rights,  by  blazes,  whenever  I  gits  a 
chaince  ! " 

We  are  not  prepared  to  to  say  that  the  captain  was  convinced  by 
his  argument,  which  was  continued  for  some  time  after  this,  and 


422  WOODCRAFT. 

was  wound  up  by  a  stoup  of  Jamaica,  when  the  parties  all  retired  for 
the  night.  Millhouse  congratulated  himsolf  and  companions  that  a 
favorable  impression  had  been  made,  but  Frampton  was  doubtful. 
His  sympathies  had  taught  him  better  how  to  see  into  the  captain's 
heart  and  to  comprehend  his  mysteries.  The  sergeant  judged  only 
of  what  should  be  the  effect  of  arguments,  and  an  eloquence  so  potent 
as  his  own. 

The  next  morning,  at  sunrise,  found  the  two  subordinates 
astir.  Frampton  and  Millhouse  went  forth  together  in  consulta 
tion,  the  latter  looking  exceedingly  ominous,  like  some  great 
bull-dog  on  duty,  and  having  a  keen  scent  in  his  nostrils  of  some 
intruder.  At  breakfast,  the  subject  of  the  last  night  was  resumed, 
by  the  sergeant,  but  the  captain  made  no  response.  He  ex 
pressed  no  surprise  to  see  Frampton  linger  away  from  his  young 
wife.  The  lieutenant  said  nothing  of  the  object  of  his  visit,  or 
of  the  summons  which  induced  it,  but  quietly  assumed  the  air 
and  attitude  of  one  on  duty.  The  good  youth,  accustomed  to 
military  authority,  and  trained  up  in  great  measure  by  Porgy, 
was  prepared  to  obey  at  every  peril.  Of  law,  he  had  only  vague 
notions.  So  far  as  his  experience  went,  civil  authority  had  been 
only  a  name  —  a  venerable  thing,  perhaps  —  but  which  men  every 
where  plucked  by  the  beard,  without  fear,  and  with  impunity. 
He  had  yet  to  learn  that  it  could  prove  more  potent  now  than 
during  the  seven  years  previous,  when  each  man  did  the  thing 
that  was  best  in  his  own  sight,  and  when  there  were  no  judges 
in  the  land,  however  numerous  might  be  the  executioners.  He 
hud  come  to  stand  up  beside,  and  for,  his  feudal  lord  —  such  was 
really  the  sort  of  relation  between  the  parties  —  and  to  break 
spear  for  him,  and  peril  life,  against  all  comers.  It  is  possible 
that  Porgy  understood  the  purport  of  his  visit,  but  he  forebore 
all  remark  upon  it.  The  youth  was  simply  welcomed,  as  of  old ; 
and,  as  of  old,  he  went  at  once  on  duty.  The  sergeant  soon 
showed  him  that  the  duty  was  to  be  a  vigilant  one,  and  was  quite 
necessary.  The  two  mounted  guard  alternately.  Certain  favor 
ite  negroes  were  selected  as  scouts  and  videttes,  who  watched 
all  the  approaches  to  the  plantation.  One  was  chosen  to  ascend 
through  the  scuttle  to  the  housetop,  and  keep  his  eyes  at  once 
on  every  point  of  the  compass.  And  thus  matters  stood,  without 


THE    SHERIFF    I  \    LI  M  150.  423 

any  event  to  excite  alarm,  until  the  third  day  after  Frampton's 
arrival 

On  this  day,  some  little  after  noon,  and  just  when  Porgy  \\as 
beginning  to  ^Jiink  of  dinner,  the  scouts  came  in  bringing  inielli- 
geuce  of  the  approach,  in  the  direction  of  Glen-Kherley,  of  a 
very  stylish  looking  gentleman,  in  black  habit,  driving  the 
vehicle,  then  in  fashionable  use  for  one  or  two  persons,  called  the 
"chaise,"  a  heavy  lumbering  sort  of  gig,  with  a  capacious  top  to 
it.  This  mis  the  sheriff,  the  well-known,  amiable,  graceful  and 

accomplished  Colonel ,  whose  solicitude  to  do  an  unpleasant 

duty  pleasantly,  had  prompted  him  to  undertake  a  task  which  is 
now-a-days  commonly  confided  to  a  deputy.  At  the  gate  of  the 
avenue  of  Glen-Eberley,  the  sheriff  found  himself  suddenly  ar 
rested  by  a  person  in  military  habit.  Before  he  knew  where  he 
was,  a  huge  horseman's  pistol  was  clapped  to  his  head,  and  he 
was  required  to  give  an  account  of  himself.  The  sheriff  was 
confounded. 

"  Why,  young  man,"  said  he,  "  what  does  all  this  mean  ?  Why 
are  you  armed  to  the  teeth,  and  why  am  I  arrested  with  violence 
on  the  peaceful  highway  ?  Who  are  you,  and  what  do  you  take 
me  for?" 

"  For  a  person  that's  after  no  good,  stranger!  "  was  the  answer  of 
Lance  Frampton.  "  We  hear  that  there's  some  enemies  of  Captain 
Porgy  after  him,  who  want  to  seize  him  and  his  negroes,  and  we  are 
jest  here  to  see  that  they  do  no  such  thing  ! " 

"  Why,  who  is  there  to  take  his  property? " 

Who  !  I  don't  know  ;  but  they  are  enemies,  and  varmints,  sher 
iffs,  and  such  like  tory  people !" 

Framptou's  mode  of  cataloguing  showed  considerable  inexper 
ience,  by  which  the  sheriff  was  amused  rather  than  annoyed, 

"You  do  not  mean  to  say,  my  friend,  that  you  would  resist  a 
sheriff  in  the  execution  of  his  lawful  duties  ?  " 

"  Let  him  only  try  it  here,"  was  thcfcindignant  answer. 

"Well,  my  good  friend,  my  business  here  is  to  see  Captain 
Porgy." 

"  But  you  are  not  the  sheriff?  " 

"  Sheriff,  indeed  !  I'm  Col.-  — ,  formerly  of  the  army.  I 
know  Captain  Porgy  well.  He'll  be  glad  to  see  rue,  I've  uo 
doubt." 


424  WOODCRAFT. 

"And  you're  not  one  of  the  sheriff's  fellows,  then  ?  "  demanded 
Frampton,  doubtfully. 

"  Do  I  look  like  any  one's  fellow?  "  asked  the  sheriff,  laughing. 

"  I  don't  know!  I'm  on  duty  here  to  see  that  no  sheriff,  or  any 
of  his  fellows,  get  into  the  place  ;  and  I'm  bound  to  examine  closely. 
But  I'll  take  you  in,  where  you  can  see  another  person  that's  on 
duty,  and  that  knows  better  what's  to  be  done  than  I  do.  Get  out, 
boy" — rto  the  sheriff's  driver —  "get  up  behind." 

In  a  moment  Framption  had  changed  places  with  the  negro.  This 
done,  he  took  the  reins,  saying  as  he  drove  — 

"  If  you  were  to  drive  up  this  avenue,  stranger,  except  under  my 
charge,  you'd  be  most  like  to  have  a  bullet  through  your  jacket." 

'  The  devil !  You  have  then  converted  Glen-Eberley  into  a  forti 
fied  place?" 

' '  Yes,  indeed !  And  we  can  make  a  pretty  stiff  fight  against  a 
good  troop  of  sheriffs," 

"Humph!    The  captain's  at  home,  I  suppose? " 

"  Yes,  indeed!  But  it's  a  chance  you  wron't  get  a  sight  of  him. 
It  all  depends  upon  Sergeant  Millhouse.  He's  the  officer  on  duty. 
You  must  make  it  all  clear  to  him,  that  you  don't  come  for  any  evil, 
before  he'll  let  you  'light." 

"Indeed!"  and,  with  his  secret  meditations,  the  sheriff  smiled 
pleasantly  enough;  but  his  smiles  were  arrested  as  suddenly  as  he 
himself  had  been  before,  as,  almost  in  the  middle  of  the  avenue, 
Frampton  drew  up  the  horses. 

"  Here's  the  sergeant!"  said  he. 

The  sheriff,  at  the  same  moment,  saw  approaching,  from  the  head 
of  the  horses,  a  stalwart  figure,  \vith  pistols  in  belt,  and  sabre  \vaving 
in  his  left  hand.  A  cap  made  of  the  skins  of  a  pair  of  gray- squirrels, . 
with  the  tails  flapping  on  both  sides,  covering  his  head.  His 
uniform  was  of  strange  military  mixture,  altogether  indescribable, 
but  propriety  requires  that  we  should  describe  it  as  a  uniform.  His 
eye  was  fiercely  suspicious,  and  his  mouth  was  compressed  with  most 
rigid  determination. 

"  Who's  he? "  was  the  stern  demand  of  the  sergeant  as  the  vehicle 
was  stopped,  and  he  presented  himself,  waving  his  sabre,  in  front  of 
the  visitor. 

"He  calls  himself  Col. ,  of  the  army  ;  says  he's  not  the 

sheriff,  or  any  of  his  fellows,  and  wants  to  see  the  captain." 


THE   SHERIFF   IX   LIMBO.  425 

The  sergeant  glared  at  him  with  eyes  of -piercing  inquiry;  and, 
after  a  moment's  pause,  said  — 

"Take  off  your  hat,  stranger,  that  I  may  see  what  sort  of  a 
head  you've  got  of  your  own!" 

The  sheriff,  smilingly  civil,  complied  with  the  requisition. 

"He  looks  oiiharmful  enough,  Lanco,  but  there's  no  knowing. 

I  never  haird  of  any  Colonel  in  the  army  ;  I've  hearn  of  a 

cappin  with  some  sich  name,  but  I  never  haird  that  he  did  anything 
much.  He  warn't  no  great  shakes.  You  say,  stranger,  that  our 
cappin  knows  you  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  the  sheriff,  meekly,  beginning  to  feel  somewhat 
dubious  of  his  securities. 

'"Well,  hev  you  any  way  to  let  him  hear  from  you,  by  any 
writing  or  letter.  For,  as  for  seeing  him  afore  he  hears  all  about 
you,  that's  onpossiblc  !  " 

The  sheriff  produced  a  pencil,  tore  off  a  bit  of  paper  from  a  letter, 
wrote  his  name  upon  it,  and  offered  it  to  the  sergeant. 

"  Stick  it  on  the  eend  of  my  sabre,"  said  the  wary  soldier,  not 
knowing  how  such  a  talisman,  taken  into  his  hands,  might  compro 
mise  his  relations  with  the  captain  or  the  eneiity. 

"Now,  Lance,  git  out,  and  take  out  the  horse;  then  you  carry 
this  paper,  jest  as  it  stands,  to  the  cappin  ;  I'll  keep  guard  on  this 
pusson,  in  the  meantime,  when  you're  gone." 

A  few  moments  sufficed  for  this  performance,  and  Frampton  set 
off,  bearing  the  missive  at  the  point  of  the  sword,  and  leaving  Mill- 
house,  pistol  in  hand,  confronting  the  visitor.  The  latter  made  a 
movement  as  if  to  get  out ;  but  the  sergeant,  with  a  horrid  voice  of 
war,  cried  out  — 

"  Don't  you  stir  a  peg,  onless  you  wants  me  to  blow  a  winder 
through  your  buzzum  !  Jes'  keep  quiet  whar  you  air,  ef  you  wants 
an  easy  time  of  it  ! ', 

And  he  followed  up  the  terrible  threat  by  a  wilful  obtrusion  of 
the  huge  pistol,  jaws  wide  open,  full  into  the  gaping  jaws  of 
the  doubtful  visitor.  The  sheriff  recoiled,  as  well  he  might.  He 
was  half  afraid  now  to  more  a  limb,  although,  just  then,  it 
occurred  to  him  that  the  ends  of  certain  legal  documents,  of  con 
siderable  size,  were  peering  too  conspicuously  from  a  breast 
pocket ;  and  he  feared,  if  remarked,  it  would  scarcely  be  possible 
.for  him  to  escape  the  imputation  of  being  the  much-hated  officer 


426  WOODCRAFT. 

for  the  hostile  reception  of  whom  these  men  were  in  arms.  lie 
finally  attempted  the  thing  once,  but,  as  he  lifted  his  hand  to  his 
bosom,  Millhouse  mistook  it  for  an  attempt  to  get  at  his  weap 
ons,  and  he  instantly  applied  his  own.  Again  was  the  huge 
muzzle  of  the  pistol  clapped  to  the  sheriff's  head  with  an  awful 
injunction  — 

"Ef  you  lifts  a  hand,  or  stirs  a  peg,  stranger,  you  swallows  a 
bullet  that  no  white  man  can  chaw.  I've  been  in  the  army  too 
long,  my  friend,  to  let  the  inimy  git  his  hand  fairly  into  his 
buzzum.  Jest  you  try  it  ef  you  wants  to  see  ho\v  I  manages  in 
sich  a  case.  Jest  you  try  it,  ef  you'd  see  blazes  to  shet  up  both  your 
eyes." 

The  sheriff  resigned  himself  submissively  to  the  necessity.  The 
sergeant,  clearly,  was  not  a  sentinel  to  be  trilled  with  ;  and  the 
prisoner,  beginning  honestly  to  wish  himself  well  out  of  the  present 
predicament,  was  now  afraid  to  relax  the  stiffened  limb,  to  ease  out 
leg  or  arm,  knee  or  elbow,  lest  he  should  incur  the  sudden  penalty 
of  blow  or  bullet.  He  remained  thus  in  a  most  uneasy  state  of  rest, 
which  was  anything  but  repose,  waiting,  with  anxiety,  for  the  return 
of  the  more  civil  of  his  two  captors. 


CHAPTER  LVII. 

COUP   DE   THEATRE. 

WHEX  Lance  Frampton  entered  the  house  with  the  paper  of  the 
sheriff,  addressed  to  Porgy,  and  which  contained  only  the  name 
of  the  former,  the  captain  of  partisans  was  preparing  himself  for 
dinner,  which  Tom,  the  cook,  was  himself  about  to  place  upon  the 
table. 

"  Where's  Pomp,  Tom  ?  "  demanded  the  captain. 

"Pomp  dcy  somewhere;  dey  tak'  care  ob  hese'f,  I  'speck," 
replied  Tom,  with  a  significant  jerk  of  the  head. 

"Somewhere!  Taking  care  of  himself!  Why,  what  the 
d — 1  is  he  after,  and  wrhy  don't  you  call  him  in  to  his  duty  ? 
You  should  see,  Tom,  that  the  scjunp  dous  not  skulk  to  fre- 


COUP    1)E    TIIKATKE.  4.^1 

queutly.  He  has  too  much  taste  for  it,  as  is,  perhaps,  the  ease  with 
all  fiddlers.  Halloo  for  the  scamp,  and  see  that  he  is  at  his  post.  Take 
care  of  himself,  indeed!  I'll  sec  that  he  takes  care  of  me." 

"He  no  guine  yer  holler  dis  time,  maussa!"  :uiswered  Tom. 
"Nebber  you  min',  maussa;  he  will  come  jis  when  we  wants  'em; 
only  jis  now,  he  sca'ce  [scarce]!" 

"  But  we  want  him  now  !  " 

"Can't  come,  now,  maussa!  Pomp  in  de  swamp,  safe  shet  up. 
Nobody  for  sh'um  [see  him]!-" 

"  In  the  swamp!     AVhat  the  d 1  is  he  after  in  the  swamp?  " 

But  the  farther  dialogue  was  arrested  by  the  appearance  of 
Frarnpton,  very  much  to  Tom's  relief,  since  he  could  not  much  longer 
have  evaded  the  direct  demands  of  his  master,  while  Millhouse  had 
enjoined  upon  him  silence.  To  let  the  reader  into  a  secret,  all  the 
negroes  had  taken  to  the  swamp,  except  Tom,  from  the  moment  when 
the  sheriff's  chaise  had  been  arrested  at  the  entrance  of  the  avenue! 

"  AVell,  Lance;  in  armor  still?    What's  the  matter?  " 

"We've  captured  a  man  here,  captain,  who  calls' himself  Col. 
,  and  says  you  know  him.  He  sends  you  this." 

Porgy  read  the  slip. 

Col.   ;    and    you've     captured    him,    you    say?    How?  — 

Why?  " 

Frampton  told  his  story  briefly. 

"Why,  you  see,  we're  on  duty;  and  we  thought  he  was  the 
sheriff,  and  so  we  took  him  into  captivity.  The  sergeant's  standing 
guard  over  him,  while  I  brought  you  the  paper." 

"  Captured  him!    And  where  is  he?" 

"  In  the  avenue.  You  can  see  him  through  the  window,  where 
the  sergeant  has  him  under  guard." 

•    Porgy    looked    out    and    burst    into    an    uncontrollable    fit    of 
laughter. 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!  Good,  i'faith!  excellent!  The  captor  in  captivity! 
Ha!  ha!  ha!  Well,  this  is  promising!  The  game  begins  well.  We 
shall  have  a  laugh  on  our  side,  at  least,  whether  \vc  lose  or  not  in  the 
long  run.  Ha!  ha!  ha!" 

The  captain  made  the  lieutenant  repeat  the  details  —  the  dia 
logue —  every  particular;  and  the  merriment  of  the  captain  was 


42^  WOODCRAFT. 

;<;m>\vf.!.  The  whole  thing  struck  him  amusingly.  It  appealed 
to  his  leading  passion  for  practical  jokes.  He  determined  to  hu 
mor  it  to  the  end. 

"  So,  you  thought  Col. the  sheriff  .did  you?     Ha!  h«  ! 

!;<•:  !  admirable !  What  a  story  to  tell!  But,  I  will  go  out  to 
him.  T  must  only  put  a  few  extra  dishes  on  the  table.  Here, 
Tom  !  —  And  now,  Lance,  stop  out  to  the  sergeant;  tell  him  to 
watch  his  prisoner  closelj7.  I  will  come  out  and  see  if  lie  is 
really  the  colonel,  whom  I  know  very  well!  We  must  not  be 
imposed  upon,  Lance!  By  no  means!  Ha!  ha'  ha!  Tho 
captor  in  captivity  !  Very  good,  by  Mercury,  very  good  I" 

Lance  Frampton  disappeared ;  perfectly  satisfied  that  the  cap 
<ain  approved  of  all  his  proceedings ;  a  matter  of  which  he  had 
not  been  quite  sure  previously.  When  he  was  gone,  Porgy,  with 
Tom's  assistance,  proceeded  to  put  himself  in  caparison  of  war. 
His  uniform  was  hastily  hustled  on,  his  belt  girded  about  his 
\vaist,  sword  slung  at  his  side,  pistols  stuck  in  his  belt,  and  in  his 
nand  he  carried  a  long  rifle.  This  done,  he  proceeded  to  arrange 
certain  mysteriously-covered  dishes  upon  the  table.  Tom  was 
also  made  to  equip  himself  in  armor  —  that  is,  with  a  light  toma 
hawk  over  his  shoulder,  a  huge  coutcau  dc  rJtasse  in  one  side  of 
his  belt,  and  a  great  horseman's  pistol  in  the  other.  Porgy  gave 
him  some  final  directions,  a*id  then  sallied  forth  to  examine  the 
prisoner. 

Before  he  appeared,  the  sheriff  had  begun  to  meditate  the 
propriety  of  declaring  his  indignation,  in  very  strong  language, 
at  the  treatment  he  received ;  but,  at  the  approach  of  Porgy, 
looking  swords,  bayonets,  and  blunderbusses,  his  purpose  chang 
ed. —  Was  the  captain  craxy  1  Could  he  really  mean  to  defy 
the  laws  ?  The  colonel  began  to  have  his  doubts.  He  had  heard 
of  the  mad  freaks  of  which  Poagy  had  been  occasionally  guilty; 
lie  had  heard  that  he  was  very  tree  in  his  potations;  he  saw 
nothing  but  savage  defiance  in  the  features  cf  Millhouse,  an<: 
nothing  but  sober  soldier  resolution,  and  dogged  adherence  t< 
authority,  in  the  aspect  of  Frampton.  The  gown  began  to 
tremble  in  the  presence  of  the  sword.  '  I  must  temporize  !"  was 
the  unspoken  decision  of  the  sheriff,  "  I  must  see  how  the  land 
lies  first !  Who  knows  what  desperate  actions  these  mad  fellow* 
may  not  commit." 


D.-,  THEATRE.  4~'J 

Porgy  came  0:1  slowly,  as  became  liis  size  ai.d  state.  As  ha 
approached,  the  sheriff  made  a  movement  as  if  to  rise. 

"Not  a  step,  stranger!"  cried  the  vigilant  Millhouse,  hold- 
sjig  up  the  yawning  pistols.  "Wait  tell  the  cappin  gives  the 
word." 

The  captain  seemed  slow  to  give  the  word.  He  drew  nigb 
with  the  air  of  a  man  who  felt  that  he  might,  at  any  moment,  be 
required  to  pull  trigger.  His  rifle  was  held  in  readiness,  his  finger 
near  the  trigger.  He  walked  up  to  Millhouse,  and  looked  suspi- 
ciously  at  the  vehicle. 

"  Who  have  you  got  here,  sergeant  ?" 

The  serg3ant  sainted,  in  military  style,  flourishing  the  pistol 
instead  of  the  sword,  as  he  answered — 

v "  A  fellow  who  calls  himself  Col. ,  but  I  don't  know. 

He  mout-be,  ana  mout-be  not,  the  colonel.  But  he  says  he 
knows  you,  and  you  knows  him." 

Porgy  advanced  a  pace,  and  peered  suspiciously  into  the 
vthicle,  still  ki-eping  a  very  deliberate  step,  and  a  severe  suspi 
cious  aspect.  The  sheriff  cried  out — 

'  What,  Oapt.  Porgy,  don't  you  know  me?" 

"  Bless  mo,  so  it  is  !     It  is  Col.  •  .     My  dear  colonel,  I 

dm  truly  rejoiced  to  see  you,  and  greatly  regret  that  my  fellowH 
should  have  subjected  you  to  'durance  vile'  for  a  single  moment. 
It  was  all  a  mistake.  Get  out,  if  you  pl:?ase.  They  took  you 

for  some  d d  harpy  of  the  law — the  sheriff  or  some  one  of 

his  vile  myrmidons.  Get  out,  my  dear  fellow,  and  let  us  hurry 
in  to  dinner.  You  are  just  in  pudding-time." 

"  He  evidently  does  not  know  that  I  have  been  made  sheriff," 
was  the  silent  whisper  of  the  colonel  to  himself,  as,  accepting  tho 
invitation,  he  descended  from  the  vehicle,  which  Porgy  imme 
diately  told  Frampton  to  drive  up  to  the  house. 

"We  have  but  one  single  negro  on  the  place,"  said  Porgy j 
"at  sight  of  you,  supposing  you  the  sheriff,  every  two-legged 
animal,  of  dark  complexion,  took  to  the  swamp.  You  gave  them 
a  scare,  I  assure  you.  But  come,  I  am  really  glad  to  see  you  at 
Glen-Eberley,  and  just  at  this  moment." 

And  he  shook  hands  with  the  sheriff,  with  the  cordial  army 
shake,  which  threatened  to  dislocate  a  member  in  order  to  com 
pel  i-emeinbraiise  The  sheriff  felt  a  litde  relieved,  even  while 


430  WOODCKAFT. 

the  usage  was  so  rough.  They  walked  toward  the  house  aiia 
in  arm 

"  Let  me  cany  your  rifle,  captain,"  said  the  sheriff. 

"  My  rifle  !  No,  indeed,  colonel,  no  !  I  never  part  with  it.  1 
know  not  at  what  moment  I  may  have  to  use  it.  There  is  a 
skunk  of  a  Scotchman  in  my  neighborhood,  who  may  cross  n».y 
patli  some  day,  and,  as  I  tell  you,  I  am  in  momentary  expecta 
tion  of  the  visits  of  the  sheriff,  or  some  of  his  satellite  harpies." 

"  But  you  certainly  would  not  draw  trigger  upon  an  officer  of 
the  la\v?" 

"Would  I  not!"  exclaimed  the  captain,  suddenly  stopping  ir 
his  march,  withdrawing  his  own  arm  from  that  of  the  other,  aji  '. 
confronting  him  with  a  stern  expression.  "WouKl  I  not? --Will 
I  consent,  after  fighting  the  battles  of  my  country  for  seven  y^ars, 

to  be  driven  from  my  estates  by  a  d d  civilian  —  a  fellow, 

probably,  who  never  smelt  gunpowder  in  his  life.  No !  indeed  ! 
I  will  die  in  harness  and  in  possession  !  They  may  conquer  me 
—  I  suppose  they  will,  in  time;  but  I  will  hold  on  while  I  can, 
do  battle  to  the  last,  and  when  they  do  take  possession,  they 
shall  walk  into  it  only  over  my  dead  body." 

"  And  here's  the  man  to  baick  you,  cappin,  by  the  Lord  Har- 

IT  !" 

Such  was  the  speech,  delivered  with  stentor-lungs,  from  the 
rear;  the  sergeant  at  the  same  moment  amusing  himself  with 
thrusting  back  his  sabre  into  the  steel  sheath,  with  such  an  em 
phasis,  as  to  make  it  ring  again.  The  sheriff  was  startled  from 
his  propriety,  for  a  moment,  by  the  sudden  illustration  which 
followed  the  captain's  fierce  determination. 

"  They  are  all  mad  together,"  he  again  whispered  »o  himself; 
a-d  it  might  be  observed  that  his  deportment  bec.im  mor*t  con 
."Jiatory  than  ever. 

"  Come,  colonel,  let  us  in,  now,  and  see  what  dinner  we  shall 
find  awaiting  us. '  A  stoup  of  Jamaicp.  will  refresh  you  after  your 
vide,  and  me  after  my  scare.  The  very  idea  of  a  sheriff  makes' 
me  thirst ;  and  to  be  relieved  of  this  idea,  I  must  drink.  Come ! 
In!" 

And  the  captain  seized  his  guest  good-naturedly  by  the  arm, 
and  the  two  ascended  to  the  piazza,  the*  sergeant  thundering  with 
heavy  h-e-'iri  behind,  his  sabre  sheath  'titling  against  the  steps 


"COUP    DE   TIIEATTIE.  .          431 

at  every  stride,  and  reminded  the  sheriff,  momently  of  the  military 
nature  of  the  escort.  When  in  the  house,  lie  threw  oil"  his 
hat,  and  Porgy  discarded  his  military  cap  ;  the  squirrel-skin  cover 
ing  of  Millhouse  was  doffed  also,  and  the  three  joined  in  a 
devout  draught  of  Jamaica.  But,  neither  of  the  two  latter  laid  aside 
his  weapons.  The  swords  still  swinging  at  their  sides,  and  the 
pistols  at  their  belts. 

Meanwhile,  dinner  was  announced,  and  the  captain  of  partisans 
motioned  the  sheriff  to  a  seat  at  one  end  of  4he  table,  he  prepar 
ing  to  take  the  place;  opposite.  The  sergeant  sank  into  a  seat  on 
one  side.  Once  seated,  the  captain  unsheathed  his  sabre,  which 
he  laid  across  the  table,  the  hilt  convenient  to  his  grasp.  The 
sergeant  followed  the  example,  only  substituting  his  lap  for  the 
table.  Lance  Frampton  came  in  at  this  moment,  took  a  place  oppo 
site  the  sergeant,  and,  seeing  what  the  latter  had  done  with  his 
weapon,  made  a  similar  disposition  of  his  own. 

The  sheriff  saw  these  proceedings,  which  seemed  habitual, 
with  increasing  surprise.  "  Certainly,"  lie  again  whispered  him 
self,  "these  people  are  all  mad  !"  The  reflection  increased  his 
observances,  mid  made  him  studious  to  maintain  the  utmost  pro 
priety  of  demeanor.  He  looked  about  him,  and  curiously  sur 
veyed  all  that  came  within  the  range  of  his  vision.  AVe  have  not 
hitherto  thought  it  necessary  to  mention  that,  witli  the  borrow 
ed  nionej7  of  Mrs.  Eveleigh,  the  captain  had  succeeded  in  furnish 
ing  his  house  with  some  regard  equally  to  comfort  and  display. 
The  want  of  money  in  the  city  when  he  entered  the  market, 
and  the  number  of  families  who  were  selling  out,  had  enabled 
him  to  procure  a  comple  outfit  at  small  cost.  He  no  longer  dined 
upon  the  floor,  carpeted  with  blanket.  He  had  now  ample  sup 
plies  of  chairs  and  tables  ;  there  were  mirrors  against  his  walls; 
and  fine  linen  upon  his  table.  There  were  no  display  of  plate,  it  is 
true,  beyond  the  necessary  allowance  of  spoons,  but  his  china  was 
quite  imposing,  and  would  be  considered  so  now.  His  decanters 
and  tumblers  were  of  cut-glass,  and  the  covers  to  his  dishes  were  of 
very  handsome  plating. 

AA'hen  the  dishes  were  uncovered,  it  was  with  increasing  sur 
prise  that  the  sheriff  beheld  one,  within  reach  of  Porgy,  con 
taining  a  pair  of  highly-polished  pistols.  He  attempted  something 
of  a  jest  when  he  saw  them. 


432  WOODCHAFT. 

' '  Really,  captain,  you  can  not  design  that  dish  for  the  digestion  of 
any  visiter." 

"  The  digestion  must  depend  upon  himself,"  was  the  cool  reply  ; 
"  but  there  are  parties,  who  might  sometimes  intrude  upon  me,  for 
whose  special  feeding  they  are  provided," 

"What!  the  sheriff,  eh?"  with  a  faint  chuckle. 

"  Exactly  !    Shall  I  help  you  to  soup,  colonel  ?" 

"If  you  please." 

"Bouille?" 

"Thank  you— a  little." 

"You  will  find  it  more  manageable  than  bullet." 

"  Yes,  indeed  !" 

"Try  a  little  of  that  Maderia  with  your  soup.  It  improves  it 
wonderfully  to  my  taste.  Tom  !" — tasting —  "you  have  not  put  quite 
enough  salt  in  your  soup?" 

"  Who  say  so  ?  Enty  I  know  ?  Tas'e  'em  'gen,  maussa!  I  'speck 
you  fin'  salt  'nough  in  'em  next  time.  Heh  !  Ef  I  ain't  know,  by 
dis  time,  how  for  salt  the  soup,  I  t'row  'way  heap  of  my  life 
for  not'ing." 

"  Hear  the  rascal.  He  knows  that  he  doesn't  belong  to  me,  or  he 
would  never  be  so  impudent.  How  are  negroes  selling  now  colonel  ? 
I  got  a  hundred  guineas  for  that  fellow." 

"  You  were  well  paid,  captain.  At  his  time  of  life,  unless  a  fellow 
had  some  rare  qualities,  he  could  scarcely  command  more  than  half 
that  money." 

"Tom  has  rare  qualities.  He  can  cook  a  good  dinner;  can 
make  and  season  soup  to  perfection,  and  would  have  done  so  to-day 
— would  certainly  never  have  thrown  in  too  little  salt — but  that  he 
heard  some  talk  of  the  sheriff,  and  in  his  agitation  and  the  hurry 
with  which  he  armed  himself  with  his  favorite  weapons — sec  the 
knife  and  the  hatchet —  lie  has  been  careless  with  his  salt —  has  prob 
ably  spilt  half  of  that  in  the  fire  which  he  intended  for  the  soup. 
How  does  it  taste  to  you,  colonel!" 

"Right  sir;  very  good  soup,  and  well  seasoned.  I  should  say  that 
your  cook  has  salted  it  sufficiently." 

''T'ank  you,  sail,"  quoth  Tom,  "I  mos'  bin  'fcar'd  I  spill 
some  ob  the  salt,  when  I  yer  'bout  clem  warmint,  de  sheriff;  but  ef 
you  tas'e  'em,  da's  'nough.  Salt  musn't  be  too  sharp  in  soiip  for  he 
good  seas'ning." 


COUP    DE   THEATRE.  438 

From  the  soups  they  passed  to  the  solids.  There  was  a  round 
of  beef.  There  was  a  pair  of  wild  ducks.  Tlio  sheriff  began  tc 
recover  his  confidence  with  his  appetite,  and  to  praise  Tom's* 
cooking.  Porgy  watched  and  listened  to  him  with  a  grim  pleas 
ure.  Occasionally,  the  sergeant  put  in,  with  some  of  his  philos 
ophies,  whenever  anything  particularly  provocative  had  been 
said,  hut  it  may  be  stated  that  he  was  particularly  taciturn  that 
day.  The  fact  is,  the  conduct  of  the  captain  was  somewhat  mys 
terious.  The  guest  was  inoffensive/ — was  clearly  not  the  sheriff 
—  yet  he  saw  that  Porgy  was  playing  out  a  game  upon  him  — 
whether  for  the  purpose  of  alarming  the  stranger's  fears,  or 
amusing  himself,  he  could  not  determine ;  but  the  doubt  kept 
him  fiercely  suspicious,  and  watchful  of  every  look  and  move 
ment  of  the  guest. 

The  sheriff  noted  the  man's  air  and  manner,  and  was  impressed 
accordingly.  The  conduct  of  Lance  Frampton,  who  was  singu 
larly  quiet,  was  yet  of  a  sort  to  fix  his  attention.  In  this  youvig 
man  he  beheld  a  fixed  confidence  in  his  superior,  and  a  readi 
ness  to  obey  orders,  which  showed  that,  at  a  wink,  he  would  be 
prepared  to  act,  and  without  any  regard  to  responsibilities.  After 
awhile  the  wine  began  to  circulate,  though  the  sergeant  still  con 
fined  himself  to  the  Jamaica.  Even  when,  at  the  summons  of 
the  captain,  he  emptied  his  glass  of  Madeira,  he  was  sure  to 
swallow  a  good  mouthful  of  the  rum  after  it,  as  if  to  prevent  any 
evil  consequences  from  the  more  aristocratic  liquor.  The  dishei 
were  cleared  away,  and  Tom  gave  the  party  a  rice-pudding, 
which  was  voted  good  on  all  hands.  Its  removal  was  followed 
by  the  introduction  of  raisins,  ground-nuts  (peanuts  or  pindars). 
and -black  .walnuts.  Over  the  wine  and  walnuts,  the  chat  grew 
more  and  more  lively.  It  passed  from  topic  to  topic ;  the  town 
and  country ;  the  camp  and  court ;  civil  life  and  that  of  the 
soldier;  but  there  was  one  lurking  trouble  in  the  mind  of  the 
sheriff'  which  invariably  brought  him  badk  to  the  peculiar  condi 
tion  in  which  he  found  the  household. 

"  Really,"  said  he,  "  captain,  I  find  it  impoasible  to  realize  the 
assurance  that  you  make  me,  that  you  are  all  armed  and  equipped 
here  to  resist  the  operations  of  the  law." 

"  Indeed  !"  said  Porgy,  looking  grave.  "You  find  it  difficult 
io  understand,  and  why  1  Is  it  so  strange  that  I  should  be  un- 


484 

willing;  to  surrender  nil  my  possessions,  at  the  first  demand,  and 
Without  a  struggle." 

"  But,  you  could  scarcely  expect  to  make  resistance  to  the  laws 
of  the  land.  The  sheriff  is  armed  Avith  a  sovereign  power  for 
the  time.  How  would  you  hope  to  hold  out  against  him  ?" 

•'You  mean  to  say  that  he  would  overwhelm  me  with  the />•?«- 
se  cotnitaf&s  ?" 

"  Ay,  and  if  need,  call  out  the  military !" 

"  To  be  sure  he  may,  and  certainly  there  is  a  power  to  which 
my  own  must  succumb.  What  then  ?  If  I  am  to  yield  up  all 
the  goods  nf  life,  why  not  life  also  ?  What  is  life  to  me  ?  You 
know  my  tastes  and  habits.  You  know  how  I  have  lived  and 
how  I  still  live.  Some  men  will  tell  you  that  I  am  a  glutton, 
others,  that  I  imbue  my  appetites  equally  with  my  taste  and 
philosophies;  all  agree  that  I  am,  essentially,  a  good  deal  of  an 
animal  —  that  I  was  profligate  in  youth  that  I  might  enjoy  life, 
and  that  in  the  good  things  of  this  life,  I  find  life  itself.  I  won't 
deny  the  charge.  Be  it  so.  Am  I  to  survive  the  good  things, 
and  yet  cherish  the  life  ?  Wherefore  ?  What  docs  Shylock 
say  —  whom,  by-thc-way,  I  take  to  be  a  very  shrewd  and  sen 
sible  fellow,  and  a  greatly  ill-used  rascal  — 

'  You  Uikc  my  life 

Whi'n  you  do  tako  tlio  menus  whereby  I  live!' 

And,  when  I  have  perilled  my  life  a  thousand  times  for  the  ben 
efit  of  other  people's  goods,  shall  I  not  venture  it  for  the  protec 
tion  of  my  own  ?" 

"  But,  my  dear  captain  there  is  a  material  difference  between 
doing  a  thing  with  the  sanction  of  the  law,  and  in  defiance  of  it." 

"None  to  me  \  Don't  you  see,  my  dear  colonel,  that  I  am 
prepared  to  sacrifice  my  life  with  my  property,  and  that  law  can 
in  no  way,  exact  a  higher  forfeit  ?  But  d — n  the  law  !  We've 
had  enough  of  it  for  the  present.  Fill  up  your  glass.  You  will 
find  that  Madeira  prime.  It  is  from  an  ancient  cellar !" 

"  Thank  you  !  [Fills.]  Well,  my  dear  captain,  suffer  me  to 
hope  for  you  an  escape  from  the  clutches  of  the  law  by  legiti 
mate  means  !" 

"  I'm  obliged  to  you,  my  dear  colonel ;  but  we  army  men  don't 
care  much  about  the  means,  EO  that  we  effect  the  escape.  I  am 
for  stratagem  or  fight,  sap  or  storm,  just  as  the  best  policy  conn- 


COUP    DE   THEATRE. 

cils.  Life,  after  all,  is  a  constant  warfare.  Rogues  are  only  en 
emies  in  lamLskins,  or  ermine.  They  do  not  care  to  cut  my 
tin-oat  so  long  as  I  have  a  purse  to  cut;  they  will  not  care  to 
drive  me  to  desperation,  so  long  as  it  is  profitable  to  them  that 
J  should  live.  I  know  them !  I  defy  them  !  '  I  can  die  with 
out  a  grunt  to-morrow.  I  have  neither  wife,  nor  child,  nor  moth 
er,  nor  sister,  to  deplore  my  fate,  or  to  profit  by  my  departure. 
I  am,  with  the  exception  of  these  two  faithful  comrades  of  mine, 
utterly  alone  in  the  world.  They  shall  live  with  me  while  I 
live.  They  would  die  for  me  to-morrow.  Were  a  man  but  to 
lift  a  finger  against  me,  to  assail  my  life,  or  my  meanest  fortunes, 
they  would  be  into  him  with  bullet  and  bayonet,  and  need  not 
;i  signal  from  me." 

"(That's  a  rightious  truth,  by  the  Hokies!"  exclaimed  the  ser 
geant,  with  his  one  fist  thundering  down  upon  the  table.  The 
lieutenant's  eyes  brightened  keenly,  and  he  looked  to  the  captain, 
but  he  said  nothing. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  they  are  true  and  faithful  friends,  captain," 
said  the  sheriff;  "but  suppose  now,  only  suppose,  I  say,  the  sher 
iff  was  suddenly  to  appear  among  you,  just  as  I  am  here  now, 
and  were  to — " 

He  was  stopped  !  Stopped  in  an  instant,  as  by  a  thunderbolt, 
by  the  prompt  reply  and  action  of  Porgy. 

"  Suppose  the  sheriff  in  you  !  Ha  !  suppose  the  rest  for  your 
self.— See!" 

And  with  the  wild  but  determined  look  and  action  of  a  despe 
rate  man,  he  seized  both  pistols  lying  in  the  dish  before  him, 
stood  up,  reached  as  far  over  the  table  as  he  could,  and  covered 
the  figure  of  the  amiable  but  indiscreet  sheriff  with  both  muzzles 
cocking  the  weapons  as  he  did  so.  The  sheriff  involuntarily 
dodged  and  threw  up  his  hands.  At  the  same  instant,  and  as 
soon  as  the  purpose  of  the  superior  had  been  understood  by  Mill- 
house  and  the  lieutenant,  they  were  both  upon  their  feet  —  the 
sergeant  swinging  his  sabre  over  the  head  of  the  supposed 
offender ;  while  Frampton,  more  silent,  but  quite  as  decided, 
while  he  swung  his  sword  aloft  with  one  hand,  grasped  with  the 
other  the  well-powdered  shock  of  the  sheriff,  in  an  attitude  very 
like  that  which  we  see  employed  by  the  ferocious  Blue  Beard 
m  the  opera,  when  *thc  poor  wife  is  tremblingly  crying  out  for 


436  ;!HiLVFT. 

her  brother.  Here  was  an  unpremeditated  coup  de  theatre  f 
Two  swords  crossed  in  air  above  the  victim, — two  pistols,  with 
eacli  broad  muzzle  almost  jammed  against  his  own;  every  eye 
savagely  fixed  upon  him,  and  all  parties  seeming  to  await  only 
the  farther  word  of  provocation  from  his  lips.  Nothing  had  been 
more  instantaneous.  The  subordinates  were  machines,  to  whom 
Porgy  furnished  all  the  impulse.  Their  action  followed  his  will, 
as  soon  as  it  was  expressed.  There  was  no  questioning  it,  and 
the  amiable  sheriff  was  so  much  paralyzed  by  the  display,  that 
it  was  only  with  much  effort  that  he  could  cry  out — "But,  my 
dear  captain,  don't  suppose  me  the  enemy — the  assailant  —  th*» 
d d  sheriff  or  any  of.his  myrmidons." 

"  By  no  means,  colonel ;  but  you  supposed  a  case  in  order  to 
sue  whether,  and  how,  we  were  prepared  for  it;  and  it  was  essen 
tial  that  you 'should  have  a  proper  demonstration.  You  have 
seen ;  be  easy ;  fill  up  your  glass,  my  dear  sir,  and  forgive  my 
merry  men  here  for  the  earnestness  with  which  they  performed 
their  parts.  They  had  no  reason,  indeed,  to  suppose  that  I  was 
not  serious.  You  see  what  chance  a  l>ona-Jidc  sheriff  would 
stand,  if  he  aimed  at  any  showing  here!" 

Porgy  had  resumed  his  seat,  and  restored  the  pistols  to  the 
dish  as  coolly  as  the  actor,  who  takes  his  brandy  and  water,  equal 
parts,  after  strangling  his  wife,  stabbing  the  traitor,  and  dying 
famously  in  the  person  of  Othello.  It  was  not  so  easy  for  Mill- 
house  to  throw  off  his  tragic  aspect.  He  resumed  his  seat  slowly, 
never  once  taking  his  eyes  from  the  colonel's  face,  as  he  did  so; 
and  during  the  whole  progress  of  the  feast,  he  continued  to 
regard  him  with  only  half-reconciled  senses. 


LEGAL  REGIMEN.  437 


CHAPTER    LVIII. 

LEGAL   REGIMEN. 

THE  excellent  sheriff  no  longer  felt  any  call  to  trespass  in  ex 
periments  upon  the  legal  antipathies  of  the  captain  of  partisans 
and  his  observant  follower.  He  steered  wide  of  all  allusions  from 
thenceforth  to  the  officer  of  the  law,  and  his  possible  appearance 
in  the  precincts.  He  felt  really  impressed  with  the  danger  of 
any  one  who  should,  with  malice  prepense,  do  so,  in  the  evidently 
diseased  condition  of  mind  and  mood  prevailing  at  Glen-Eberley. 
That  he  should  thus  forbear,  however,  was  by  no  means  agreeable 
to  liis  self-esteem  or  his  sense  of  duty.  He  was  uncomfortable 
when  he  thought  of  his  official  station,  and  the  sealed  documents 
in  his  pockets.  He  had  come  there  to  make  a  levy  on  land  and 
negroes,  without  dreaming  that  he  should  encounter  any  opposi 
tion.  Resistance,  with  force  of  arms,  was  entirely  beyond  his . 
imaginings;  and  to  depart,  having  done  nothing  was  at  once  a 
lacliessc  of  duty  and  a  personal  mortification.  More  than  once  he 
felt  like  plucking  up  his  drowning  courage,  and  perilling  his  life 
upon  his  manhood  —  boldly  challenging  the  danger,  and  facing 
it  with  folded  arms  of  defiance ;  but,  on  all  such  occasions,  as  if 
Porgy  and  his  followers  knew,  by  instinct,  his  emotions,  there 
should  occur  some  explosion,  or  some  symptom  of  explosion, 
which  would  remind  him  vividly  of  the  smouldering  volcano  upon 
which  he  sat.  For  example,  he  once  made  an  allusion,  de 
liberately  designed,  to  M'Kewn ;  and  Millhouse  flared  up,  and 
fumbled  his  sabre,  and  gnashed  his  teeth,  even  as  the  French 
man  when  he  cries,  "Sacre!"  through  his  mustache,  or  the 
Spaniard  when  he  growls  "  Demonios  !"  and  flourishes  his  dagger, 
Frampton  showed  similar  signs  of  impatience  —  while  Porgy  ex 
claimed  aloud,  striking  his  fist  down  upon  the  table  :  — 

"  Don't  mention  that  scoundrel's  name  in  my  hearing,  colonel ! 
I  feel  wolfish  when  I  hear  of  him.     Let  him  but  cross  my  path 


488  WOODCRAFT. 

let  any  of  liis  i.iyrmidons  but  put  themselves  in  ray  way,  and  it 
I  do  not  crop  their  ears,  close  to  the  head,  then  there's  no  edge 
to  any  weapon  in  my  household." 

"  But  is  he  not  a  neighbor,  captain?" 

"  Neighbor!  Well,  sir,  I  suppose  you  may  call  him  a  neigh 
bor,  even  as  the  devil  is  a  neighbor,  and  is  said  to  take  free 
i.idgings  in  every  man's  dwelling;  but  such  neighborhood  does 
iiOi  prevent  us  from  flinging  the  wretch  out  of  the  windows, 
whenever  our  good  saints  give  us  the  necessary  succor.  Don't 
speak  of  such  a  scoundrel  to  my  ears,  or  I  may  do  you  the  injus 
tice  to  suppose  you  are  his  friend." 

The  sheriff  took  the  warning,  and  M'Kewn  was  dropped,  and 
all  subjects  were  dropped  which  were  likely  to  stir  up  the  bile  and 
black  blood  in  the  bosoms  of  the  host  and  his  companions.  The 
sheriff  resigned  himself  to  his  fate,  and  to  the  policy  of  doing 
nothing  with  as  much  grace  as  possible.  He  was  not  only  fright 
ened  from  the  purpose  for  which  he  came,  but  the  feeling  of  good 
fellowship  momently  grew  stronger  with  the  circulation  of  the 
wine,  and  the  excellent  spirits  of  the  captain.  The  latter,  in  all 
inspects,  except  the  one,  was  on  his  best  behavior,  and  in  most 
amiable  temper.  He  never  showed  himself  more  really  humor 
ous  and  delightful  as  a  companion  in  all  his  life.  The  sheriff 
was  charmed  and  listened,  lie  was  soothed  and  satisfied.  Hii 
philosophy  came  into  the  support  of  his  necessity.  He  reasoned 
thus,  accordingly  :  — 

"  There  is  no  need  to  push  the  matter  !  Porgy's  estate  is  good, 
at  any  moment,  for  this  debt.  Every  day  increases  the  value  of 
both  lands  and  negroes.  Were  I  to  seize  and  sell  now,  the  prop 
erty  would  be  sacrificed.  It  would  pay  the  debt,  but  leave 
nothing  over  to  the  good  fellow,  who  has  been  serving  his 
country  in  a  long  and  honorable  warfare.  D — n  the  fellow!  I 
like  him,  and  he  shall  have  indulgence  as  long  as  I  can  grant  it !" 

As  soon  as  he  had  reached  this  conclusion,  and  resolved  thai 
his  visit  should  no  longer  have  a  professional  object,  the  play  wab 
easy.  He  yielded  himself  up  to  the  society  in  which  he  found 
himself.  He  felt  the  charm  of  his  host's  fun  and  philosophy; 
and  lie,  too,  had  good  things  in  his  keeping.  When  he  had  once 
resolved  to  sink  the  sheriff,  he  gave  himself  free  scope,  let  him 
self  out,  and  became,  what  lie  was  known  to  be  in  the  army,  a 


LEGAL   REGIMEN.  439 

really  good  fellow,  of  no  savage  inclinations,  fond  of  a  jovial 
circle,  and  capable  of  making  himself  the  life  of  it.  The  day 
passed  and  the  party  of  four  had  not  left  the  table.  They  had 
raised  their  clouds  around  it ;  all  being  smokers  except  the 
lieutenant.  Coffee  was  served  by  Tom,  in  the  midst  of  the 
cloud.  When  the  coffee  disappeared,  the  Jamaica  and  tin- 
Madeira  were  restored.  G&rds  followed,  and  at  twelve  o'clock 
at  night,  the  sheriff  rose  a  loser  of  some  thirty  shillings  to  ser 
geant  Millhouse,  who  played  through  the  hands  of  Frampton, 
•and  who  became  more  and  more  reconciled  to  the  suspicious 
guest  with  every  shilling  which  the  latter  yielded.  When,  next 
morning,  after  the  colonel's  departure,  —  which  took  place  soon 
after  an  early  breakfast  —  he  was  discoursing  of  his  good  quali 
ties,  his  companionable  virtues,  and  so  forth,  the  captain  of  par 
tisans  laid  his  hand  on  his  shoulder — 

"  Ah  !  Millhouse,  but  you  don't  know  the  man." 

"  What !  he's  Col. ,  aint  he  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  And  a  main  good  fellow,  I  say." 

"Well  enough;  —  well  enough;  but — your  ear,  sergeant." 

The  latter  yielded  it;  the  captain  stooped  as  if  to  whisper  — 
then  in  deep,  solemn  accents,  as  if  drawn  up  from  immeasurable 
depths,  he  cried  out : — 

"THE  COLONEL  is  THE  SHERIFF!" 

The  sergeant  made  but  one  bounce,  and  was  across  the  room; 
his  countenance  wo-begone  with  surprise  amounting  to  terror. 
His  involuntary  utterance,  occasioned  equally  by  what  ho,  had 
heard,  and  the  tone  of  voice  employed  in  telling  it,  was  charac 
teristic  of  his  early  attention  when  at  church  service. 

"  Haz'rk  from  the  tombs  !     The  sheriff,  cappin  !" 

"The  sheriff!" 

"  What !  our  sheriff,  what's  a-corning  a'ter  our  goods  and 
chattels." 

"  Tke  same !" 

•'  Oh  !  ef  I'd  ha'  knowcd  it !  —  I'll  be  a'ter  him  !  —  Lance!" 

"No!  Do  nothing  of  the  kind  !  We've  got  off,  thus  far,  very 
well.  The  joke  is  a  good  one,  upon  which  I  can  feed  fat  with 
laughter  for  a  month.  I  must  ride  over  and  tell  the  widow.  How 
her  sides  will  shake!" 


440  WOODCRAFT. 

"  The  sheriff !  It's  owpossible,  cappin !  And  he  'haved  him 
self  so  civil  and  sensible,  and  never  said  a  thing  about  the  cl— d 
execution !" 

"  No,  indeed !  the  pistols  looked  too  full  of  executions  of  a  more 
serious  sort,  to  say  nothing  of  your  two-foot  sabre,  and  your  mon 
strous  ferocity  of  visage,  sergeant." 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!— ho!  ho!  ho! — haw!  haw!  haw!" 

The  whole  story  became  very  slowly  apparent  to  Millhouse 
but  when  he  did  receive  it  fully,  the  house  was  made  to  shake 
with  his  wild  yells  of  laughter.  Lance  Framptou  was  perhaps* 
more  keenly  sensible  to  the  force  of  the  jest,  but  he  permitted 
himself,  at  best,  a  quiet  chuckle  only  in  a  comer.  It  was  in  the 
midst  of  a  torrent  of  Millhouse's  yells,  that  Porgy  had  his  horse 
saddled,  and  rode  over  to  the  widow  Eveleigh,  to  whom  he  re 
counted  the  little  drama,  from  the  first  scene  to  the  last,  with  in 
imitable  effect.  The  widow  did  laugh ;  dignity,  '41  those  days, 
did  not  deny  the  privileges  of  an  honest  cachinatiou  even  to 
nobility ;  and,  we  are  constrained  to  admit,  as  had  been  predicted 
by  Porgy,  that  her  sides  did  shake :  but  not  vulgarly,  or  with 
too  ostentatious  a  display  of  the  commotion  within  and  without. 
It  was  a  lady-like  show  of  shaking  which  did  not  discredit,  in 
the  least,  the  social  claims  and  bearing  of  the  fair  widow.  But 
when  she  recovered  herself  from  the  shaking  of  the  sides,  she 
shook  her  head,  and,  with  becoming  gravity,  said : — 

"  But,  captain,  is  not  this  flying  in  the  face  of  the  law  1  Will 
this  not  compromise  you  seriously  ?" 

"  By  no  means,  my  dear  widow,"  he  answered  merrily ;  "  the 
law  never  showed  its  face  to  us  for  a  moment.  We  have  treated 
it  with  no  discourtesy." 

"  But  its  messenger,  the  sheriff!"  , 

"He  never  showed  himself  in  that  character." 

"  But  that  was  due  to  your  course — " 

"  Perhaps  ;  but  that  course  was  not  illegal.  There  is  nothing 
penal  in  the  case.  If  he  allowed  his  apprehensions  to  get  the 
better  of  his  sense  of  duty,  the  more  fool  he.  He  has  no  right 
to  complain  and  will  be  ashamed  to  do  so.  As  for  the  law,  we 
have  done  nothing  against  which  the  law  can  shake  a  finger." 

"  But  the  matter  does  not  end  here.  The  sheriff  will  of  course 
come  again,  and — " 


LEGAL    II  ECU  MEN.  441 

"  I  shall  play  out  the  play,  my  dear  Mrs.  Evcleigh,  as  it  has 
begun.  I  must  have  the  fun  in  fall ;  and  for  the  rest,  —  why,  I 
will  content  myself  with  the  proverb  of  the  patriarch  —  'Suffi 
cient  for  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof.'  It  will  be  time  enough  to 
look  out  for  the  bolt  when  we  hear  the  thunder." 

"Too  late  — the  flash!" 

"  Precisely,  my  dear  widow,  precisely  that!  It  is  because  the 
case  is  one  against  which  no  precautions  can  avail,  that  I  choose 
to  lo.ok  out  for  the  bolt  after  it  strikes  and  not  before.  But,  good 
ly,  I  must  ride  back  and  write  to  Pinckney  all  about  this  mat 
ter.  He  must  share  the  fun.  He  will  relish  it,  I  know.  I  would 
he  had  been  a  spectator  !  The  thing  is  indescribable  ; — only  to 
be  seen  in  the  visages  of  Millhouse,  Lance,  and  the  sheriff,  as 
the  two  crossed  weapons  over  his  head,  and  I  faced  him  out  of 
countenance  with  my  unmuzzled  bull-dogs.  My  dear  widow, 
would  you  believe  it,  the  innocent  pups  that  looked  so  fiercely 
in  the  eyes  of  the  sheriff,  were  toothless.  There  was  no  load  in 
either.  But,  good-by ;  God  bless  you !  I  must  get  back  in  a 
hurry.  I  rode  over  only  that  you  should  enjoy  the  story." 

The  story,  indeed,  was  quite  too  good  a  one  to  be  quiet  in  any 
bosom.  That  vevy  night  Millhouse  gave  an  entertainment  to 
Fordham  and  the  overseer  ®f  M'Kewn  himself,  when  the  narra 
tive  was  given  at  length.  M'Kewn's  man  relished  it  quite  as 
ir.ucli  as  did  Fordham ;  and  the  next  day,  when  M'Kewn  saun 
tered  out  to  his  stables,  he  was  duly  enlightened  upon  the  events 
occurring  in  his  neighborhood.  He  had  expected  the  sheriff  at 
his  house  after  or  before  the  levy,  and  had  he  made  it,  the,  proba 
bility  is  that  the  night  would  have  been  spent  with  M'Kewn  in 
stead  of  Porgy.  The  former  listened  to  his  overseer  without 
comment.  He  saw  that  the  latter  watched  him  furtively,  to  see 
what  effect  would  be  produced  by  the  revelation.  But  he  was 
disappointed.  M'Kewn  maintained  the  utmost  immobility  of 
countenance.  He  said  nothing,  spent  the  day  as  usual,  but  the 
very  next,  he  had  his  carriage  got  and  started  off  on  a  visit  to 
the  officer  of  the  law.  The  sheriff  was  by  no  means  surprised 
to  see  him  enter  his  office ;  but  the  visit  disquieted  him. 

"Have  you  proceeded  in  that  business,  colonel?  —  M'KewD 
versus  Porgy." 


442  WOOUUEAFT. 

"  Not  yet,  Mr.  M'Kewn." 

"  But  did  you  not  visit  Glen-ELerley  for  the  express  purpose, 
colonel  ?" 

•<No —  not  exactly!  I  wished  to  look  about  me,  and  judge 
of  the  securities.  As  I  saw  that  the  property  would  bring  the 
money  at  any  moment,  I  did  not  see  the  necessity  of  forcing  it 
into  the  market,  where  it  would  be  only  sacrificed." 

M'Kewn  .smiled  significantly.  The  sheriff  saw  the  smile.  He 
understood  it,  and  blushed  to  the  ears.  He  saw  that  the  secret 
of  his  reception  had  got  abroad.  He,  at  once,  felt  all  the  mortifi 
cation  to  which  it  would  expose  him.  He  longed  for  M'Kown  to 
give  him  occasion  of  quarrel.  He  needed  somebody  on  whom 
to  expend  his  anger  and  vexation.  But  the  Scotchman  was  too 
wary  for  this.  He  quietly  said  — 

"I  can  not  leave  this  matter  to  the  discretion  of  anybody,  co 
lonel,  however  excellent  his  judgment.  I  must  have  my  money  ; 
and  I  must  require  you  to  realize  it  as  soon  as  it  is  practicable/' 

"But,  Mr.  M'Kewn,  it  will  be  the  ruin  of  Captain  Porgy !" 

"That  is  his  lookout,  not  mine;  —  not  to  realize  my  money, 
may  be  my  ruin,  colonel ;  I  must  require  you  to  do  your  duty, 
sir.  From  this  moment  I  shall  look  to  you." 

"  Be  it  so,  sir.  There  is  a  deputy.  He  shall  be  despatched 
at  once  upon  the  business." 

M'Kewn  looked  round  upon  the  person  designated,  and  nodded 
his  head  approvingly.  He  knew  Crooks  —  Absalom  Crooks  — 
of  old,  and  respected  him  as  one  of  the  very  best  bull-terriers  of 
the  law — a  broad  shouldered,  stout,  short,  little  fellow,  with  no 
crook  about  him  except  in  his  legs,  which  were  bowed,  so  as  to 
render  the  space  between  a  very  happy  oval;  while  his  arms 
hung  out  from  his  body  at  large  range.  He  had  a  red  head,  red 
face,  red  whiskers,  red  waistcoat,  and  was  tolerably  well  read  in 
the  law.  M'Kcwii  knew  his  man  and  approved  him. 

"Crooks,"  said  he  —  taking  the  deputy  aside — "see  well  to 
this  business; — get  the  negroes  into  your  custody,  and  bring 
them  right  away  with  you.  It  shall  be  worth  to  you  five  guineas 
extra,  as  soon  as  the  money  is  realized." 

Crooks  crooked  the  pregnant  hinges  of  the  knee,  at  these  preg 
nant  words,  and  promised  solemnly. 

"Hark  you,  Crooks;  you  are  dealing  with  cunning  fellows. 


LEGAL  REGIMEN.  443 

who  will  try  all  ways  to  scare  you  out  of  your  duties;  but  don't 
allow  yourself  to  be  frightened." 

"Frightened!"  exclaimed  Crooks, — "don't  know  how  to  be 
frightened,  sir, —  never  learnt,  sir — couldn't  take  that  sort  of 
education.  Frightened!  I'd  like  to  see." 

And  Crooks  looked  his  fiercest.  In  truth,  he  was  not  the  man 
to  be  very  easily  made  afraid,  lie  was  a  fiery  little  fellow,  all 
combustible;  as  ready  to  fight  as  eat,  at  any  time,  and  though 
continually  getting  drubbed,  as  continually  forgetting  the  c-vent 
iu  the  encounter  with  a  new  assailant,  lie  readily  undertook  tl.r 
mission,  and  felt  a  sort  of  personal  pique  against  Porgy  and  his 
men,  as  they  were  supposed  capable  of  inspiring  such  a  person 
as  himself  with  fear.  The  sheriff  saw  the  deputy  depart  under 
secret  instructions  from  M'Kewn,  with  well  founded  appreher- 
sionF  But  he  could  do  nothing  to  avert  the  danger.  He  had 
only  to  look  anxiously  for  the  progress  of  events.  Of  course,  he 
was  somehow  curious  to  see  how  Crooks  would  fare  at  Glen 
Eberley.  He  knewr  that  the  fellow  had  no  fear,  and  his  nm.u 
was  distracted  betwixt  two  points  — 

"  Either  he  will  succeed  by  boldness,  where  I  failed  through 
timidity,  or  Porgy  and  his  fellows  will  do  him  serious  harm. — 
In  either  case,  should  the  facts  about  my  visit  be  blown,  what 
the  d — 1  will  be  said  of  me?" 

We  must  leave  him  to  these  annoying  reflections,  and  accom 
pany  our  deputy  to  Glen-Ebcrley.  Mounted  on  a  stout  hackney 
accustomed  to  official  dignity,  Crooks  made  his  way,  with  all 
diligence,  to  the  scene  of  his  anticipated  labors.  The  documents 
were  in  his  pocket,  and,  once  armed  with  a  formidable  parchment, 
well  scored  with  Gothic  characters,  and  made  terrific  with  seals 
of  state,  Crooks  felt  no  sort  of  doubt  of  the  uniform  reverence 
which  he  should  everywhere  command.  Crooks  had  never 
served  in  the  wars,  though  pugnacious  enough  for  all  sorts  of 
struggle;  aiid  he  had  no  notion  of  any  power  which,  for  a 
moment,  could  gainsay  or  run  counter  to  that  of  the  law.  The 
courts  of  law  were,  to  his  mind,  scenes  of  far  more  imposing 
grandeur  than  any  lie  had  conceived  of  in  earth  or  in  heaven  — 
a  judge,  in  gowned  black,  was  a  more  potent  personage  to  him 
;Juin  v.-.-.s  Rhadamanthus  to  the  superstitious  among  the  ancients; 
and,  for  a  sheriff  (the  ambition  of  a  deputy,  or  a  constable,  in 


4-14  WOODCRAFT. 

• 

those  clays,  never  dared  look  so  high  as  this  office  for  himself;  il 
was  a  stretch  quite  beyond  the  vulgar  imagination  in  the  first 
days  of  the  republic),  Crooks  held  him  in  as  much  veneration, 
or  more,  than  he  could  hold  any  general  of  the  army  —  unless, 
indeed,  General  Washington.  He  was  yet  to  become  familiar 
with  a  feudal  baron,  and  to  comprehend  the  extent  of  his 
authority. 

He  was  encountered  at  the  entrance  of  the  avenue,  precisely 
as  his  principal  had  been,  by  a  man  in  armor.  His  first  saluta 
tion  was  a  seizure.  He,  who  had  done  the  seizing  hitherto,  was, 
in  turn,  seized  upon.  His  hackney  was  suddenly  brought  up, 
by  a  short  jerk,  from  a  man  springing  out  of  the  covert  beside 
the  gate  of  the  avenue. 

"Who  are  you?"  was  the  unexpected  demand,  as  the  horse 
was  backed  upon  his  haunches,  and  a  pistol  held  toward  the 
head  of  the  rider. 

"Who  am  1 1  —  I'll  let  you  know  before  you  like  it.  Let  go 
my  horse!" 

"No  fooling!  Who  are  you?  What  are  you  after  here? 
What's  your  business!" 

"  My  business  is  my  business,  and  you'll  know  it  soon  enough. 
By  what  right  do  you  stop  me  ?  Do  you  want  to  rob  me,  you 
rascal." 

The  words  were  scarcely  out  of  his  mouth  before  a  blow  of 
the  fist  tumbled  him  out  of  the  saddle.  The  horse  bounced :  the 
deputy  rolled  over  for  a. moment;  and  Lance  Frampton,  for  it 
was  he,  seized  the  opportunity  to  turn  the  steed  into  the  enclosure. 
He  thus  obeyed  the  instinct  of  the  partisan.  He  had  captured 
a  horse,  and  his  first  measure  was  to  secure  it.  The  next  mo 
ment  he  looked  after  his  prisoner.  It  was  time;  Crooks  was 
already  on  his  feet  and  making  toward  him.  Frampton  con- 
iVonted  him  with  his  pistols.  Crooks  had  nothing  but  his  riding 
whip.  This,  he  shook  at  his  assailant,  at  a  moderate  distance. 

"You  shall  sweat  for  this,  you  rascal.  I  am  an  officer  of  the 
law.  I  represent  the  county.  I  stand  here  in  the  sheriff's 
slices,  ami  resistance  to  an  officer — an  assault  upon  an  officer  — 
i'i  et  armis, —  with  swords,  pistols,  dagger,  knife,  rifle,  blunder 
buss  and  gun,  you  rascal  —  is  outlawry, —  and  you  shall  sweat 
fcr  it.  1  tell  you  I  stand  here  in  the  shoes  of  the  sheriff. 


LEGAL  UEGIMEN.  4  [ ."> 

"  You  do,  do  you?  and  if  you  stood  in  the  jacket  of  the  sher 
iff  it  wouldn't  help  yon  much.  Turn  in  to  the  avenue,  or  I'll 
put  a  bullet  into  you.  You're  my  prisoner." 

"  Your  prisoner!  Was  ever  the  like?  and  me  a  deputy 
sheriff!" 

"  Get  in,  I  tell  you;  you  shall  have  a  fair  trial." 

"Trial!     Try  me  !     Who  the  li-ll  are  you,  sir?" 

"Never  you  mind.  Get  in,  and  ask  your  questions  of  the 
captain." 

"The  captain!     What!  you  mean  Captain  Porgy." 

"Yes!  Who  else  here?" 

"The  very  man  I  want  to  see.  I'll  go  in.  It's  not  because 
I'm  afraid  of  your  pistols,  young  fellow;  I  don't  care  that  for 
'em  [snapping-  his  fingers],  and  you  shall  sweat  for  showing  'em 
to  me ;  but  I  go  in  to  see  Captain  Porgy.  He's  my  man." 

"Get  in!     I  don't  care  what  you  go  for,  so  that  you  go!" 

Lance  Frampton  sounded  his  bugle,  as  the  deputy  entered  the 
gate.  Crooks  went  forward,  venting  his  indignation  at  every 
step.  He  was  suddenly  stopped,  midway  in  the  avenue,  by 
another  man  in  armor.  Lance  and  the  new-comer  saluted,  and 
the  prisoner  was  formally  transferred  from  the  former  to  the 
latter.  Frampton  proceeded  toward  the  house.  Crooks,  staring 
at  the  gigantic  figure,  and  frowning  aspect  of  the  new-comer, 
and  greatly  bewildered  at  the  odd  accumulation  of  uniform  and 
armor  about  him,  was,  however,  about  to  press  forward,  follow 
ing  his  late  assailant,  when  the  sergeant  suddenly  arrested  him. 

"  Stand  where  you  are,  fellow,  or  I'll  be  into  you  with  some 
thing  sharper  than  a  baggonet." 

And  he  flourished  his  sabre  directly  in  front  of  the  person  of 
the  deputy. 

"  The  devil !  What  do  you  stop  me  for  ?  Do  you  know  who 
I  am  and  what  I've  come  for  ?" 

"  I've  a  notion,"  answered  the  sergeant,  looking  more  tierce 
than  ever. 

"Do  you  know  I  am  here  for  the  sheriff;  sent  here  to  make 
a  levy  of  all  the  lands,  rights,  titles,  hereditaments,  goods  and 
chattels,  niggers  and  stock,  furniture  and  apparel,  carts,  wagons 
ploughs,  hoes,  shovels,  and  all  and  every  the  implements  of  thib 
plantation,  to  take  and  hold  thereof,  and  make  sale  thereof,  in 


146  WOODCRAFT. 

satisfaction  of  the  judgment  in  the  case  of  M'Kewn  v.  Porgy 
Do  you  hoar?  Do  you  understand?  And  do  you  dare  to  ar 
rest  and  stop  me  in  the  prosecution  of  this,  my  lawful  duty." 

"  I  thought  as  much  !"  said  Millhousc,  with  an  awful  lowering 
of  the  brows,  and  a  lurid  smile  in  his  eyes. —  "  I  thought  as  much 
And  it  is  sich  a  little  mean  copper-headed  son  of  a  skunk,  that 
has  the  impudence  to  come  here  and  to  seize  the  rightful  prop 
erty  of  a  gentleman  —  and  one  too,  who  is  a  rigilar  off'cer  in  the 
line  of  the  army.  I've  most  a  mind  to  take  hold  of  you  and  lace 
your  jacket  with  hickories  —  I  hev' !" 

"  Lace  my  jacket !  Hickories  !  I  dare  you.  Do  your  best. 
But  you  shall  sweat  for  it.  You  shall,  ef  there's  any  law  in  this 
land.'" 

"Don't  provocate  me  with  your  law  !"  was  the  reply — "the 
very  word  '  law'  makes  me  feel  wolfish  —  the  hair  all  growing 
innardly.  Law,  indeed !  Shet  up,  you  little  polecat,  or  I'll 
mount  you  with  sich  a  spur  as  will  take  all  the  red  blood  out  of 
your  hide  in  no  time." 

"  I  dare  you  !  I  defy  you  !  You  can't  scare  me  with  your  big 
words  and  your  bullets.  Give  me  one  of  your  pistols,  and  I'm 
willing  to  try  a  crack  with  you  on  the  spot." 

"  You  ain't !  Well,  ef  you  warn't  a  prisoner,  I'd  let  you  ;  but 
thar's  no  sense  in  granting  we'pons  to  a  prisoner." 

"  By  what  right  do  you  make  me  a  prisoner?  By  what  right 
do  you  deprive  me  of  my  liberty,  and  stop  me  in  the  prosecution 
of  my  duty  ']  Answer  me  ?" 

"  Oh  !  shot  up  !  When  did  you  ever  hear  that  the  prisoner 
was  to  ax  the  questions  ?  It's  you  that's  to  answer,  and  here 
comes  the  lieutenant.  He'll  tell  you  what  the  cappin  says  and 
what's  to  be  done  with  you." 

-Very  well!     I'll  hear." 

"  You'll  hev'  a  fair  trial,  I  promise  you." 

"  Trial !  Who's  to  try  me  1  I  won't  go  !  I'll  not  submit  to 
any  but  a  lawful  court." 

"And  who's  to  ax  you!     Well,  lieutenant?" 

"  The  captain  says  bring  the  fellow  before  him." 

"  Come,  copper-head  !  march  !"  .and  Millhouse,  planting  him 
self  on  one  side  of  the  captive,  Franiptou  took  his  place  ~>n  the 
other. 


LEGAL   REGIMEN.  447 

"  I'll  not  march  !  I'll  not  go  !  Let  the  captain  come  here  to 
me,  if  lie  wants  me.  I'm  far  enough  on  this  place  for  what  I've 
got  to  execute,  and  I  charge  and  command  yon  both,  and  all 
who  hear  me,  as  good  citizens " 

"  Shot  up,  you  bawling  warm  hit. !"  cried  the  sergeant,  and  ha 
accompanied  the  words  by  thrusting  the  rough  handle  of  his  sa 
lire  quite  across  the  jaws  of  the  deputy.  The  other  turned  upon 
him  fiercely,  but  was  brought  back,  with  a  jerk,  by  the  hand  of 
Frampton,  who,  with  a  shove,  forcibly  bade  him — "  go  ahead  — 
on  !"  At  the  same  moment,  he  was  pricked  keenly  in  the  Hanks 
by  the  tip  of  Millhouse's  sword,  and,  looking  to  the  lieutenant, 
he  saw  that  of  the  latter  ready  to  enforce  his  progress  by  similar 
arguments.  This  was  sharp  practice,  and  quite  new  to  Crooks, 
The  sweat  stood  full  on  the  face  of  the  little  fellow ;  but  he  still 
cried  out,  with  a  tough  spirit,  burning  with  fury  :  — 

•'  Oh  !  you  shall  both  sweat  for  all  this." 

"  Oh  !  very  well !  That's  as  it  happens.  Every  man  must 
Lev'  his  turn.  But  it's  for  you  to  sweat  first,"  and  a  renewed 
pricking  of  the  sergeant's  sabre  threatened  something  worse  than 
sweating. 

"  Oh  !"  groaned  the  deputy,  as  he  obeyed  the-  impulse  and 
went  forward.  Several  times  he  paused,  making  a  new  endeav 
or  to  hold  his  ground,  and  as  often  way  he  made  to  feel  the  spur. 
When  he  reached  the  house,  he  was  forced  up  the  steps,  through 
the  piazza,  into  the  hall,  then  thrust  down  into  a  chair,  with  a 
hand  of  each  of  his  attendants  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  We've  got  him,  cappin  !"  cried  out  Milihouse  to  Porgy  in 
his  chamber.  The  captain  of  partisans  had  been  reaping  the 
stubble  field,  the  autumnal  harvests  of  his  chin,  which  were  quite 
too  grisly  to  be  suffered  to  offend  his  own  or  other  eyes.  He 
came  forth  with  coat  off,  sleeves  rolled  up,  neck  bare,  and  razor 
in  his  grasp.  The  moment  he  beheld  the  deputy,  he  cried  out — • 

"  Heavens  !  What  a  monster  !  What  a  horrible  looking  crea 
ture  !  What  a  beard.  Coppery-red  ;  a  perfect  jingle,  and  full, 
no  doubt,  of  all  sorts  of  diminutive  beasts.  Sergeant,  we  must 
have  that  fellow's  beard  off." 

Milihouse  absolutely  shouted  at  the  idea. 

"  Tom !"  roared  the  captain.  Tom  appeared  at  the  door, 
'  Quick,  Tom,  soap  and  napkin  ;  and  take  off  that  horrid  beard.' 


448  WOODCRAFT 

Crooks  would  have  bounded  from  his  sent.  He  prided  him 
self  on  his  beard.  It's  coppery  red,  apparently  so  offensive  to 
all  about  him,  was  to  him  the  perfection  of  beauty,  It's  red  he 
held  to  be  that  of  roses,  and  as  for  the  amplitude  of  it,  its  wild, 
wide-spread  bushy  dimensions,  these  he  stroked  a  thousand  times 
a  day  with  an  affection  which  may  be  imagined.  To  lose  his 
beard,  even  in  jest,  was  almost  as  bad  as  to  lose  his  scalp.  He 
now  began  feverishly  to  apprehend,  that  with  such  compan 
ions,  he  should  lose  both.  He  leaped  up,  but  was  immediately 
thrust  back  into  his  seat  by  the  ready  hands  of  his  attendants. 

"  I  won't  submit  to  this.  I  tell  you  —  I  warn  you  —  I  am  an 
officer  of  justice.  I'm  here  under  the  great  seal  of  the  state. 
I'm  on  official  duties.  I'm  under  the  sacred  protection  of  the  law." 

"  How  horribly  he  shouts !  But,  with  such  a  beard,  what 
mortal  man  can  talk  like  a  human  being.  You  don't  understand 
a  word  he  says,  sergeant  ?" 

"  Not  a  word  !  I  reckon  it's  a  sort  of  nigger  speech  from 
Africa." 

"  Do  you  understand  the  savage  creature,  Lance  ?" 

"  I  reckon's  he's  crazy,  captain,"  answered  Lance. 

"  Truly,  I  think  so.  He  will  need  a  strait  jacket.  But 
there's  no  judging  rightly  his  condition  till  we  take  off  that 
brush." 

"  Let's  burn  it  off,  cappin." 

"  No  !  no  !  he  may  be  human,  and  that  might  hurt  him.  We'll 
shave  it  off,  and  then  see  what  he  really  is.  I  suspect  he  be 
longs  to  the  monkey  species  —  he's  an  orang-outang ; — you  know 
what  that  is,  sergeant." 

"  Hate  man,  hafe  horse,  and  two  parts  alligator,  I  reckin." 
-  "  You're  very  nigh  the  mark.     Hurrah,  Tom  !  make  haste." 

Tom  made  his  appearance  with  basin,  towel,  soap,  &c.  The 
deputy  seeing  his  danger,  and  that  the  affair  was  looking  serious, 
made  another  effort  to  escape  from  the  clutches  in  which  he  was 
held,  and  accompanied  the  effort  by  a  fearful  outcry,  touching 
the  terrors  of  the  law.  Btit  in  vain. 

"  Tie  him  down.  Handkerchief,  there,  Tom.  Secure  him,  so 
that  he  may  not  do  himself  harm.  He  is  certainly  very  wild. 
He  must  have  been  only  lately  caught.  Somebody  must  have 
put  these  clothes  on  him  by  fovev.." 


LECAL    RK(JIMKN. 

While,  tlic  captain  thus  dilated,  his  assistants  busied  themselves 
in  securing  the  deputy  to  his  seat.  His  arms  were  tethered  tn 
the  back  of  the  chair,  which  was  one  of  those  massive  mahogany 
receptacles  so  common  at  that  period,  and  representing  a  much 
earlier  period  in  the  history  of  English  civilization.'  The  chaii 
n  as,  in  fact,  modelled  upon  the  times  of  Elizabeth.  Thus  se 
cured,  with  his  head  held  back,  the  napkin  tucked  beneath  his 
chin,  Tom  approached  and  proceeded  to  lay  on  tin',  lather.  The 
thick  soapy  mass  was  thrust  ad  lilntvm  into  mouth  and  nostrils. 
The  deputy  yelled,  but  as  the  soap  made  fearful  progress  into 
his  jaws  at  every  opening,  he  was,  perforce,  content  to  sputter, 
and  sneeze,  and  kick  and  writhe.  All  efforts  were  unavailing. 
His  captors  were  resolute  in  their  fun.  "Law!"  he  cried. 
'"Lather!"  cried  Porgy  ;  and  Tom  obeyed.  Half  suffocated, 
though  more  furious  than  ever,  Crooks  finally  yielded,  and  Tom 
proceeded  to  apply  the  razor.  Tom  had  acquired,  in  camp,  the 
arts  of  the  barber,  as  well  as  the  cook.  lie  was  not  so  dextrous 
as  determined.  Crooks  saw  that  it  was  at  his  own  peril  that  he 
writhed,  or  twisted,  or  reared  his  head,  or  stuck  out  his  chin  un 
necessarily.  Tom  would  say  quietly:  — 

"You  only  guine  to  wussen  youse'f,  buckrah  —  ef  you  is  a 
buckrah  —  wid  you  kickings  and  cawortings,  Better  you  keep 
youself  easy,  ef  you  don't  want  me  for  slice  off  you  nose." 

Here  was  a  new  peril.  Slice  off  his  nose  !  The  loss  of  the 
petted  beard  was  a  great  evil  —  but  to  lose  his  nose  also,  was 
such  as  it  made  him  doubly  sweat  to  meditate. 

"  Don't  cut  off  his  nose,  Tom,"  cried  Porgy,  with  a  great  aii 
of  concern.  "  This  class  of  animals  seldom  have  mucli  to  spare > 
and  the  loss  of  such  a  member,  would  really  disfigure  the  face 
terribly." 

"  Lord,  cappin,  nothing  could  make  such  a  critter  more  ugly 
than  he  is,"  answered  Millhouse  ;  "  but  he  could  lose  an  inch  of 
snout  and  never  miss  it.  Why,  Lord,  he's  got  a  nose  like  n 
baggonet  and  a  most  hafe  as  long  !" 

Tom,  meanwhile,  prosecuted  his  labor  with  diligence.  He 
was  a  bold  cutter.  It  was  all  army  practice  with  him  —  swift, 
slashing,  reckless,  not  easily  stopped  by  trifling  impediments. 
At  every  swoop,  Crooks  found  a  wide  waste  of  forest  growth  re 
moved  ;  huge  tracts  ot  warm  furze  disappeared,  as  the  prairie 


450  WOODCRAFT. 

grass  in  autumn,  under  the;  fire.  Soon,  the  entire  wilderness  of 
hriisli  was  cleaned  up.  The  territory  was  now  smooth,  and  the 
light  let  in  upon  a  region  that  had  not  peen  the  day  for  half  a 
dozen  years.  Crooks  was  no  longer  the  same  man  ;  he  felt  c<>M 
nli -ut  the  chin;  hut  his  chill  greatly  increased  when  lie  heard 
Tom  ask — 

"  Must  tck'  off  he  hair  now,  maiiswi  ?  He  look  berry  bad  and 
upK.  1  reel:::)  he  must  he  full  of  warrnints." 

Torgy  seemed  for  a  moment  to  meditate,  the  matter;  but  he 
waived  Tom  off. 

••  No  !  that's  rii'Migh,  Tom,  for  the  present.  I  think  we  may 
nou  make  out  the  species  of  the  animal." 

"  I'm  the  deputy  sheriff — my  name's  Crooks." 

"  A  well-known  warmint,  cappin.  I  reckon  you  mont  as  well 
skin  him  ahi'^vf  her.  ,!  -;ike  off  the  sea!))  now.  and  we'll 

be  sure  to  know  him  next  ti 

"No!  no!  It  is  not  so  much  that  we  may  kno\v  him,  as  that 
he  may  know  us  hereafter.  I  see  what  he  is.  Let  him  gn  now. 
1  reckon  he's  tame  enough  for  the  present.  Now.  let  him  have 
a  Swallow  of  Jamaica." 

"]    drink   nothing  in  this  house  !"  cried  the  deputy  rising  to 

his  feet 

"  Then  you  lose  the  taste  of  a  mighty  good  dram  of  liquor." 

"  And   1  warn  \«»u  all     -all  three  of  you  —  that  you  shall   an 
swer  for  this  assault  and  battery.     You,  Captain  Porgy —  I  kno\\ 
you  —  and  you,  and  you.  I  will   have  it    all  out  of  you  three,  il 
there's  any  law  in  the  land." 

"  You  won't  drink,"  said  Porgy. 

"Not  a  drop  with  you,  or  in  this  house." 

11  Will  you  eat  ?" 

"Not  a  mouthful !" 

"  Then  we've  done  all  that  we  can  do  for  you,  unless  you  desire 
that  Tom  should  take  off  that  shock.  It  is  unnecessarily  thick 
and  long.  Can  that  be  hair  ?" 

"  Look  you,  Captain  Porgy,  I've  submitted  to  your  assaults 
and  batteries  because  I  could  not  help  myself." 

"  A  mighty  goo  I  reason  too  !" 

"  But  I  will  have  redress.  Now,  sir,  I  will  do  my  duty,  and 
here  I  give  you  notice,  that  in  the  character  of  the  Sheriff  of— 


LEGAL   URC.IMKN.  4nl 

kBoo!  woo!  woo!  woo!     Shall  I  muzzle  him,  cappin  ?" 

"  No  !  let  him  go.  Depart,  my  good  fellow,  while  your  bones 
are  whole.  We  have  done  for  you  the  best  we  could." 

"  I'll  not  go  until  I  have  made  a  levy  upon  all  the  lands  and 
negroes,  the  goods  and  chattels  of  this  estate  of  Glen-Eberley, 
under  the  authority  of  the  papers  which  I  now  carry,  and  which 
F  will  read  for  the  benefit — " 

By  this  time  he  had  drawn  the  documents  out  of  his  pocket. 

"  Beware  how  you  attempt  to  read  any  of  those  vile  heathen 
documents  here,"  said  Porgy,  assuming  an  air  of  great,  sternness. 

"  State  of  South  Carolina !"  began  the  deputy. 

"  As  surely  as  you  attempt  to  read  that  paper,  I  will  make 
you  eat  it !" 

4<  Eat  it !   I'll  eat  nothing  in  this  house  !" 

"  We'll  see  to  that," 

"  State  of  South  Carolina — "  resumed  the  deputy. 

"  Seize  him,"  cried  Porgy  — "  seize  him  !" 

And,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  Frampton  caught  Crooks  in 
his  embrace,  and  Millhouse  set  his  enormous  thumb  and  forefin 
ger  about  his  neck,  and  the  deputy  was  forced  back  into  his 
chair.  The  paper  was  snatched  by  the  lieutenant  from  his  hand. 

"  In  the  name  of  the  state  !"  screamed  the  deputy. 

"  Feed  him  with  it !"  shouted  Porgy. 

"  I  levy  and  seize,  distrein  and  take  possession  —  -"  began  the 
deputy  at  a  rapid  rate,  but  his  mouth  was  suddenly  filled  with 
his  documents.  The  execution  was  crammed  into  his  jaws  —  a 
part  of  it  at  least ;  and  the  voice  of  the  sergeant,  in  accents  too 
clear  and  loud  to  be  misunderstood,  advised  him  what  to  do 
with  it. 

"  Feed  or  suffocate,  you  skunk." 

"  You're  choking  me  to  death  !" 

"  Feed,  then  !  Chaw  !  Swallow  !"  And,  at  every  word,  the 
sergeant  plied  the  unhappy  deputy,  with  a  fragment  of  the  ex 
ecution.  It  was  in  vain  that  he  flounced  and  floundered,  strove, 
kicked,  and  scuffled  with  his  persecutor.  The  iron  arm  of  Mill- 
house  was  seconded  with  an  equally  iron  will,  and,  perforce,  tho 
victim  was  compelled  to  chew  and  mouth  the  musty  document. 

"  My  God  !    do  you  mean  to  kill  me  ?" 

•'  N  )t  unless  good  feeding  will  do  it.    You  love  the  law,  you  live 


\  !•"[' . 

» 

on  it,  ami  ought  to  be  able  to  digest  it.     Give  him  anothei  mouth 

ful,  sergeant.      It  must  all  be  eaten.      It  is  not  too  much  for  one 
meal." 

With  every  l>it  offered,  and  finally  forced  upon  the  deputy, 
tin-  same  struggle  followed,  the  same  unavailing  resistance,  i!" 
\\as  compelle.  Nothing  hut  the  seal  remained.  This 

:.ot  then  the  fiction  which  it  is  in  recent  times.  It  was  not 
then  thought  '[Uife  sum'cient  to  \\  rito.  '  lorus  xi« ////','  and  with 
hold  the  seal  itself.  In  the  present  rase  this 

cubtr  plate  of  red  wax,  '.imensimis.     It  was  now  offered 

t<>  the  umvilli:  ht  «>f  it  the  i'elh.w  cried    »ut 

with  horr-.r    -"  I  ean'1  QAl   lhat  !       It'll  he  the  death  of  me.       It's 
got  p<>;-in  in  it." 

"Ah!  ha!  is  il  so.'  And  do  yon  bring  p'ison  into  a  L:e'itle- 
man's  family,  and  try  to  ^arvr  it  on  him.  Well,  it's  only  yi>ur 
own  medicire,  my  honey  ;  y«.u  i.just  eat  it  with  the  rest.  The 
j»li\  sic  of  a  law  paper  kai;  I  with 

it      Bite!    Kat!   n'r  I'll " 

Pmt  for  the  interposition  of  the  captain,  the  sergeant  would  ! 
]M".-s'ste«l  ill  t(»stiug  to  the  ntmo.st  the  caj.;:  -f<mi- 

ach.      Fortunately,  the  former  was  disposed  to  nioi'e  indul--. 

"Let  him  oil',"  said  he,  "he's  had  enough.    N 

Jamaica;  —  or,  perhaps,  \  ou'll  jirefer  an  emetic,  my  <j;>;<«\  i'rllow, 
to  produce  reaction.     I  can  have  you  a  little  tartar  in  a  second." 

"No!  no  !'*  cried  Crooks  with  chob  nts — "Tlu;  mm! 

the  rum  !" 

The  liquor  was  poured  out  for  him,  and  the  glass  put  into  his 
hands;  as  he  was  ahoiit  to  drink,  Millhousu  exclaimed — 

"Ha!  ha!  1  know'd  you'd  hev'  to  come  to  it  at  last.  You 
swore  you  wouldn't  eat  or  drink  in  this  house.  You've  done 
hoth  !" 

The  taunt  was  enough.  The  deputy  dashed  down  the  un- 
tasted  liquor,  smashing  the  glass  upon  the  floor. 

"Curse  the  house!"  he  cried,  "and  all  that's  in  it!"  and  sha 
king  his  hand  in  fury,  lie  hroke  through  all  restraint,  and  disap 
peared  from  the  apartment. 

"After  him,  boys,  and  see  that  he  clears  out.  Attend  him  to 
the  outposts,. Lajice!  He  will  hardly  venture  back  with  othei 
documents/' 


M'KEWN  AT  HOME.  453 


CHAPTER    LIX. 

M'KEWN   AT  HOME,  AND  THE    SPECTRE  THAT  SIPPED    HIS    PUNCH. 

THE  captain  had  not  fairly  lost  sigh.t  of  the  deputy  before  he 
fcegan  to  reflect  upon  the  enormity  of  the  offence  which  he  had 
sanctioned  and  committed.  It  was  not  so  much  that  he  had  out 
raged  the  laws  of  the  land,  as  that  he  had  violated  those  of  hu 
manity.  He  began  to  feel  ashamed  of  this,  for,  when  not  carried 
away  by  impulse,  he  would  have  revolted  at  everything  like  bru 
tality,  unless,  as  in  the  case  of  actual  conflict  in  war,  it  took  the 
form  of  a  necessity.  His  successful  jest  with  the  sheriff,  which 
had  proved  harmless,  had  prompted  a  renewal  of  the  experiment; 
and,  once  committed  to  the  joke,  he  had  been  hurried  on  by  his 
first  impulse,  long  after  the  matter  had  ceased  to  be  mirthful. 
Though  he  said  nothing  of  his  misgivings  to  his  companions,  he 
yet  felt  very  much  ashamed  of  the  affair,  when  the  time  had 
come  for  reflection.  We  may  add  that  he  did  not,  on  this  occa 
sion,  ride  over  to  report  the  adventure  to  the  fair  widow.  He 
would  rather,  indeed,  that  it  should  not  reach  her  ears  from  any 
lips.  But  it  got  abroad  nevertheless. 

Crooks,  as  soon  as  he  could  mount  his  horse  hurried  at  full  speed 
over  to  M'Kewn's,  to  whom,  boiling  with  fury,  he  described  the 
whole  affair.  It  did  not  need  the  exaggerations  of  language  to 
render  it  hideous.  M'Kewn  was  secretly  pleased  at  the  occur 
rence.  It  fastened  an  odium  upon  our  partisan,  whose  patriotic 
services  had  otherwise  made  him  popular.  It  left  him  more  at 
the  mercy  of  his  creditor,  by  depriving  him  of  those  sympathies 
which  his  distresses  would  certainly  have  secured  for  him.  But, 
M'Kewn  did  not  suffer  his  secret  thoughts,  on  this  head,  to 
reach  the  ears  of  the  deputy.  His  indignation  at  the  treatment 
which  he  had  suffered,  was  expressed  in  language  as  warm  and 
violent  almost  as  his  own,  and,  giving  him  a  douceur  of  five 
guineas,  he  despatched  him,  the  next  day,  with  a  letter  to  the 
sheriff,  renewing  his  demand  upon  him  for  the  immediate  com 
pliance  with  his  duties. 


•  DCRAFT. 

The  sheriff  was  naturally  angry  at  the  ill  usage  of  Ms  deputy. 
There  was  a  groat  sensation  in  the  city.  Pinckney  and  Parsons, 
the  friends  and  lawyers  of  Porgy,  were  in  much  confusion.  They 
endeavored  all  they  could  at  the  arts  of  soothing.  The  shaving 
of  the  deputy  they  made  very  light  of.  Indeed,  they  affirmed  it 
to  he  an  act  of  kindness.  The  procedure,  they  insisted,  had 
groatly  improved  Crooks's  appearance;  hut  the  matter  was  quite 
too  serious  to  ho.  laughed  out  of  court;  and  such  BSttOfl 

made  Crooks,  himself,  more  angry  than  ever.  They  found  it 
politic,  according! v,  to  forhoar  this  mode  of  treating  the  aiVair. 
The  compulsory  feeding  to  which  the  deputy  had  hcen  subject- 
<.<l_tlio,  utter  scorn  and  defiance  of  the  law  which  had  hcen 
shown  hy  Pnrgy  -Mid  his  followers — trerOMrioUl  «>!Vonoes  against 
the  peace  and  dignity  of  the  country,  which  nio>l  pei>..i:s  were 
inclined  to  resent.  The  sheriiV  talked  of  immediate  pfOtt 
of  arrest — of  the  y*m.w  romffafux, —  of  a  military  force,  —  and  of 
terrihlo  ponaltios.  forfeitures,  and  imprisonments  ! 

To  gain  time  was  now  the  object  with  Pi.rgy'-  friends,  until 
the  public  indignation  should  subside;  and  they  brought  overv 
possible  iniluence  to  hoar,  which  might,  in  any  way,  etl'ect  their 
purpose.  It,  happened,  fortunately,  that  Marion  and  Colonel 
Singleton  were  hi.th  in  the  city,  and  hoth  anxiously  busied  them 
selves  to  rescue  an  old  favorite  and  follower  from  his  difficulties, 
rriiey  appealed  to  the  sheriff  for  delay,  at  least  until  the  aiVair 
could  he  inquired  into  peaceably.  M'Kewn'sdebt  must  1  e  satis 
fied,  of  course;  —  for  this  several  parties  \\.MV  prepared  to  pledge 
themselves;  —  and  it  was  supposed  that  the  hurts  of  Crooks 
might  all  he  cured  by  a  suthYiont  salve,  in  the  guise  of  hush-mon 
ey.  These  matters  arranged,  the  irritated  self-esteem  of  the 
sheriff  might  he  soothed,  and  the  damage  done  to  the  dignity  of 
the  laws  might  be  repaired  —  as  is  commonly  the  case  in  a  good 
democracy  —  hy  taking  no  sort  of  notice  of  it.  With  us,  you 
may  pull  the  nose  of  the  law,  at  pleasure,  but  you  must  be  pre 
pared  to  pay  well  for  any  such  liberty  taken  with  the  nose  of 
its  officer.  Crooks,  as  yet,  was  quite  unapproachable  on  the 
subject  of  his  wrongs  and  injuries.  It  was  supposed  by  Pinckney 
that  he  would  continue  unapproachable,  until  beard  and  whiskers 
had  once  more  grown  out  to  their  former  ravishing  dimensions. 
Meanwhile,  all  proper  efforts  should  be  made  to  mollify  him; 


M'KEWN  AT  HOME.  456 

and,  to  effect  this,  Pinckney  himself  prepared  to  lun  up  to 
Asheepoo,  and  see  the  captain,  in  order  to  bring  him  to  reason- 
able  apologies. 

These  negotiations  necessarily  occupied  some  time,  during 
which  Glen-Eberley  was  left  free  of  molestation.  The  sergeant 
congratulated  himself  that  a  victory  had  been  obtained.  Porgy 
was  less  sure  and  satisfied.  He  had  sobered  down  from  his  late 
excitement,  and  could  see  the  state  of  affairs  through  the  proper 
medium.  He  saw  that  the  time  would  come  when  he  should  pay 
for  his  frolic ;  but,  like  most  persons  of  his  temperament,  he  pre 
ferred  to  postpone  the  consideration  of  the  affair  till  the  last  mo 
ment —  until,  indeed  it  was  forced  upon  him.  Winter,  meanwhile 
was  advancing  rapidly.  The  nights  of  November  were  becoming 
very  cold.  Our  captain  of  partisans  was  now  in  the  full  enjoy 
ment  of  field  sports,  and  was  proving  himself  quite  a  Nimrod. 
II  is  corpulence  did  not  seem  to  lessen  his  appetite,  or  his  vigor 
in  the  chase.  Arthur  Eveleigh,  sensible  of  his  fault,  had  become 
measurably  reconciled  to  the  captain,  and  he  and  Lance  Framp- 
ton  met  at  Glen-Eberley,  once  a  Aveek  at  least,  to  hunt.  Porgy's 
sports,  however,  in  the  field,  did  not  lessen  the  number  of  his 
visits  to  the  two  widows.  He  was  still,  as  before — not  to  speak 
disparagingly  of  the  sex  in  our  comparisons — betwixt  hawk  and 
buzzard.  This  homely  figure  was  one  frequently  in  the  mouth 
of  the  sergeant,  in  reference  to  the  attitude  of  his  superior,  though 
lie  did  not  venture  to  obtrude  it  upon  the  ears  of  the  captain. 
Both  widows  still  seemed  very  gracious,  and  their  looks  of  favor 
increased  the  impatience  of  Millhouse  to  effect  his  long  cherished 
object. 

"  You  might  have  either  on  'em,  I  reckon,  for  the  axing," 
quoth  the  sergeant ;  "  though  it's  cl'ar  that  the  widow  Eb'leigh 
is  the  most  loving  critter  of  the  two.  It's  a  needcessity,  cappin, 
that  shfj  should  hev'  you." 

The  frequent  iteration  of  this  assurance,  finally  made  its  im 
pression  upon  our  captain;  —  but,  though  half  persuaded  only, 
that  Mrs.  Eveleigh  labored  under  the  "  needcessity"  aforesaid, 
he  felt,  as  a  man  of  honor,  that  he  could  not  approach  her  as  « 
suitor,  until  he  had  paid  her  his  debt  —  at  all  events,  having  ex 
tricated  himself  from  the  meshes  of  the  law.  "  Then,"  -^ he 
thought ; — but  it  is  proper  we  should  not  anticipate ! 


4f/;  WOODCRAFT. 

Meanwhile,  wbat  of  the  inexorable  creditor,  M'K  wu  ?  Housed 
at  his  })l;uitation  like  the  groat  Mack  spider,  to  which  we  have 
already  likened  him.  surrounded  hy  subtle  snares  of  policy,  and 
slv  devices,  and  meshes  of  cunning,  for  taking  in  and  securing 
tin-  thoughtless  ilies  of  humanity  —  for  making  prey  of  all  ho 
could — he  crouched  in  -eeming  quiet,  most  of  the,  time  unbeheld, 
in  secret  crevice,  and  when  seen,  seeming  only  to  drowse,  in  the 
central  circle  of  his  innocent  encampment.  He  v,  'Htly 

satisfied  with  his  progresses.      What,  with  his  own  art,  and  l*oi- 
ash  impulses,  he  felt  that  he  had  fairly  involved  that  great 
est  of  all    his   flies   in  a  mesh    from  which    th< 
All  of  his  schemes  appeared  to  pro>per.      Other  victims  W61 
his  snares.      Hi-  money  bred  as  if  under  the  direc*  management 
of  Mammon  —  as   if  Mammon  had    hee<.me  his   privat. 
and  determined  his  loans  and  enterprises.      !!<•  had  made  a  g 
v-rop,  and    rice    was   rising   in    the    market.      He    had    hought,  at 
moderate  prices,  a  lot  of  /;/  g,  from  the  coast  of  Guinea, 

from  a  virtuous  puritan  captain,  of  Rhode  I-hmd.  who  had  gleaned 
wonderfully  from  the  gold  coast,  and  wh"  .  by- 

the-way.  has   since   shown   himself  a  virtuous   ;;ho!itionist    in  the 
senate  of  the    United    States,  breathing  hate  and   horror  toward 
the   descendants   of  the   very  people   to  whom    his   philantl. 
grand-sire  sold    the  stolen  in  All    M'K  •  eulations 

seemed  to  he  prosperous.  All  his  apprehensions  of  Mrs.  Kv«'- 
leigh  were  relaxed  in  her  continued  silence.  lie,  had  got 
his  fears  of  her,  in  the  conviction  which  he  felt  that  the  .-eas  rolled 
forever  between  himself  and  the  squatter  1'ostwick  —  perhaps, 
rolled  over  him;  a  fate  which  he  preferred  for  his  enemy,  anu 
which  he  rather  thought  he  must  have,  suffered,  since  he  had  no 
reason  to  doubt  of  the  sagacity  and  fidelity  of  his  creatures, 
Forbes,  Urummond,  and  Barton. 

Thus,  with  all  his  fears  at  rest,  all  his  fortunes  prosperous,  all 
his  victims  in  his  meshes,  all  his  enemies  horn  <!<•  <fnnlat,  M'Kcwn 
yielded  himself  up  to  his  pleasures.  Shall  not  his  soul  take  its 
peace  at  last ;  shall  he  not  reward  himself  for  long  abstinence 
and  self-denial ;  shall  he  not  feel  himself  in  his  place  and  power, 
in  due  self-atonement  for  a  long  and  tedious  career  of  sycophan 
cy,  and  base  submission  to  the  moods  of  others  ?  M'Kewn's 
best  mode  of  reasoning  taught  him  no  higher  aim  or  nobler  pin- 


\PKEWN    AT   HOME.  457 

losopliy  than  this.  lie  was  prepared  now  to  take  his  case  at  his 
kin  !  He  was  preparing  to  look  about  him  for  a  wife,  such  as  a 
fortune,  great  as  his,  might  reasonably  command.  He  .would 
have  been  pleased  to  lift  the  widow  Eveleigh  into  that  honored 
station ;  but  the  last  interview  which  he  had  enjoyed  with  that 
lady,  taught  him  the  utter  hopelessness  of  that  object  —  taught 
him  farther,  that,  though  she  could  by  no  means  establish  the 
truth  legally  against  him,  she  was  yet  morally  possessed  of  evi 
dence  the  most  conclusive  of  his  guilt.  He  kept  needfully  from 
her  sight  accordingly  ;  while,  under  a  new  impulse,  young  Ar 
thur,  whom  he  had  labored  industriously  to  corrupt,  kept  as  heed- 
fully  from  his. 

Thus,  apparently  secure,  thus  measurably  happy  —  satisfied 
with  himself  and  his  successes,  or  striving  to  be  so — M'Kewn 
took  his  ease  at  his  plantation,  or  wore,  to  other  eyes,  the  ap 
pearance  of  one  who  did  so.  He  lived  well,  sought  the  neigh 
boring  planters,  emulated  their  hospitality,  was  frequently  a  vis- 
iter  abroad,  and  as  frequently  entertained  his  guests  at  home. 
He  gave  good  dinners,  indulged  in  choice  wines,  and,  being  a  .man 
of  the  world,  who  had  enjoyed  a  considerable  experience,  and 
was  naturally  intelligent,  he  proved,  in  most  cases,  a  very  excel 
lent  companion  among  the  persons  whom  he  was  pleased  to  seek. 

It  was  a  cold  and  cloudy  day,  late  in  November,  when  a  party 
dined  with  him.  They  were  all  good  fellows,  the  dinner  was 
served  up  in  excellent  style,  the  wines  were  fine,  the  dessert  i\ 
good  taste,  and  the  enjoyment  of  all  parties  extreme.  They 
sat  late  —  they  drank  freely.  It  was  a  bachelor's  establish 
ment,  and  song  and  story  spelled  the  intervals  between  the  sev 
eral  pledges.  Soon,  the  wines  gave  way  to  stronger  liquors. 
Old  mm  and  fiery  French  brandy  and  genuine  Scotch  whiskey 
took  the  place,  upon  the  board,  of  more  courtly  spirits.  M'Kewn 
was  famous  at  hot  whiskey  punch,  and  felt  a  sort  of  national 
pride  and  pleasure,  presiding,  with  an  antique  Scottish  bowl  be 
fore  him,  of  immense  size,  and  the  wooden  ladle  of  curious  carv 
ing  in  his  grasp,  and  the  little  silver  tankard  smoking  before 
each  guest  while  their  lips  smacked  with  delight,  and  •their 
tongues  grew  thick  with  the  language  of  unintelligible  compli 
ment — the  more  grateful  as  unintelligible.  The  company  dis 
perse!  al  a  tolerably  late  hour,  eoimr  home  with  no  conscious- 


458  WOODCRAFT. 

ness  r,f  dark  or  danger,  shouting  as  they  went,  and   fortonato  in 

driveis,  or  horses,  who  had  enjoyed  IK,  Mich  pleasant  privi! 
of  punch  as  themselves.     M'K.v.i   was  left  a)  fan 

cies,  lie  summoned  the  Servants,  ordered  that  the  remai' 
the  vessel  of  punch  should  he  taken  into  lii.s  chamber,  and, 
having  been  already  kindled  then1.  r»  :.ither  himself. 

The  night  was  (lark   and  cold,  hut    ihe   room  wa>   bright    an  1 
waiin.      Too   hriglit,  was   the   th.ni-ht  «f  M'Keun,  >h:ce    h. 
tiii.'.uished  the  wax  candles  both,  which  tl 
ing,  satisfied  with    tin-    Miliicient    blaZC  of  the    li^htu  "»d    I 
ca>t  up«m  the  lire,  and  (.('which  ai:  . 

alwavs  in   a  ln»x  upon  the    hearth.      M'Kewn   sat  in  f'mni  .-!    the 
lire,  his  ;-l;ppered    i\  et    presented    to  the    blaze.      11  :fi«»ns 

\\eic  decidedly  comfortable.     He  iraa  in  ;,t:liience ;   his  health 

-.;od  ;  he  was  yet  a  comparatively  y«ning  man  ;  nt  !«•;. 
tlie  .sunny  side  of  lifty.  He  mi-ht  rea>«,nahly  cah-ulaN',  ai 
in--  to  i-xirfting  probabilides,  n}>on  a  h-n^  term  nf  iMij"ynicnt.  In 

of  the  awkward   doubts   in  certain  <jnarter>,  i 
I'oiiiinand  iety.      If  he  could  nut  claim  entrance  hit 

circle,  lie  ha-1  .;  verv  t«diTalde  rel'uge  in  another.  Jle  had 
wealth,  and  wealth  can  always  buy  society,  though  it  may  com 
mand  neither  real  respect,  nor  affection,  I'm-  its  ]  The 
people  who  had  spent  the  day  with  him  were  all  people  <  : 
cellcnt  standing.  Good  fellowship  made  them  flexible.  '! 
Hieered  at  M'Kewn  himself;  but  they  entertained  a  very  genu 
ine  respect  for  his  dinners.  There  \\  ere  some  of  them  who  aimed 
at  something  boyund  his  dinners  —  who,  perhaps,  would  scarcely 
have  permitted  themselves  to  dine  with  him  but  for  their  occult 
objects.  These  persons  had  maiden  sifters  or  daughters,  of  a 
rare  and  virtuous  antiquity,  whom,  for  their  especial  claims  to 
admiration,  they  desired  to  see  framed  in  settings  of  gold.  They 
patronized  M'Kewn  to  this  end  —  no  more.  The  Scotchman 
readily  saw  through  their  schemes,  grinned  in  secret  over  their 
absurdities,  but  did  not  discourage  those  hopes  by  which  he  se 
cured  himself  in  good  society.  Sitting  by  his  now  solitary  hearth, 
he  mused  with  great  complacency,  thinking  upon  these  and  oth- 
br  matters.  The  affair  of  Porgy  and  the  deputy  sheriff  had 
been  brought  upon  the  tarns  during  the  do,y,  and  had  been  dis 
cussed  with  great  frankness  on  both  sides  ot  tlie  question,  as  in 


M'KEJVN    4T   HOME.  459 

the  way  commonly  with  our  Impulsive  planters  )f  the  parish 
country.  Some  of  them,  most  desirous  of  conciliating  M'Kewn, 
were  loud  in  their  denunciation  of  the  violent  and  illegal  pro 
ceedings  of  the  captain  of  partisans.  Others  chuckled  over  it  as 
a  rare  and  admirable  jest  which  furnished  quite  an  excellent  ex 
ample  to  all  future  creditors.  Others  went  further,  and,  moved 
by  very  earnest  sympathies  with  the  debtor,  professed  to  regard 
any  innovation  of  a  man's  household,  on  the  part  of  a  creditor, 
or  his  legal  representative,  to  be  a  most  impertinent  intrusion, 
justifying  any  severity  of  treatment.  M'Kewn  heard  all,  and 
smiled  in  all  directions,  satisfied,  at  the  close,  to  say,  in  a  costive 
manner  — 

."Let  him  settle  with  the  sheriff  as  he  may,  gentlemen;  ho 
will  have  to  settle  with  me!  He  may  struggle,  but  can't  escape 
me.  In  three  months,  at  least,  there  will  be  an  end  of  him,  and 
the  jest  will  be  on  the  other  side.  They  always  laugh  who  win; 
and  if  the  loser  has  the  mood  to  laugh,  why,  we  may  safely  suffer 
him  to  indulge  it." 

And  it  was  with  this  conviction  of  ultimate  conquest,  —  the 
final  overthrow  of  his  insolent  debtor  —  that  M'Kcwn  would 
chuckle  to  himself,  sipping  at  his  whiskey-punch  the  while.  Of 
this  popular  beverage,  whose  virtues  lie  always  below  the  surface, 
and  penetrate  much  more  than  skin  deep,  M'Kewn  had  a  snug 
silver  pitcher,  long  necked,  of  vase  fashion,  and  silver  lidded, 
standing  conveniently  beside  him  on  a  table;  —  moderate  meas 
ures  were  poured  out  as  he  wanted  it,  into  the  tumbler  beside 
him.  He  stirred  and  sipped,  and,  tumbler  still  in  hand,  drew 
nigher  to  the  blaze;  and,  after  a  little  while,  and  as  his  feet  began 
too  much  to  warm  before  the  fire,  he  threw  them  up  against  the 
mantelpiece,  throwing  them  wide  apart,  so  that  the  whole  pano 
rama  of  the  fire,  the  smouldering  ruins,  the  blazing  piles,  were 
all  present  to  his  eye  through  the  frame  work  of  his  parted 
thighs.  His  head  was  cast  back,  the  lids  of  his  eyes  drawn 
down  ;  he  watched  the  fire  as  through  a  microscope,  taking  in 
its  small  details.  His  chair,  a  heavy  one  of  mahogany,  with  a 
great  back,  was  nicely  balanced  on  its  hind  legs.  The  tumbler, 
half  filled  with  the  grateful  beverage,  was  as  nicely  balanced  in 
his  hands.  His  mind  had  reached  that  condition  of  repose  which 
brings  about  pleasant  reveries,  M'Kewn  saw  his  future  through 


460  WOODCR  \FT. 

a  magic  mcdirm.      His  oner  '^n-wn,  n's  cmrrso  was 

triumphant,  his  wealth  underwent  hourly  .  the  mag; 

of  the  land  wore  subservient, be  himself  i 
and  his  eye  had  only  to  determine  which  of  tin-  several  bea 
at  his  service,  he  should  chouse,  to  make  his  world  a.?  Eden. 

Ilappv  M'Kewn !     The  fates  are  husy  alwa;  with 

pleasant  .'inclines  those  whom  they  would  involve  beyond  their 
ilej)ths.  Somctin •-  k  would  appear  suddenly  on  the 

of  iiis  magic  mirn«r.  a   slight   cloud    ;  »r    if,  a  lurid   : 

and  lie  could  fancy  distant  thunder — in  other  words,  : 

y  and  the  widow  Kveloigh,  and  the  hateful  ! 
other  persons,  v.-ould  recall  to  him  suddenly  a   train   of  subjects 
B  t>£  fear  or  dillicr.1-  ''I'Kewn  found  it  e:i«\   to  dis- 

j  •'  •     •       l.tru^ive  shadows,  simply  l-\  ;ijipeal    to 

the    warm   whiskey-punch    hr>idr   hi  how 

S.M.II,  after  this  .-uiplicatiou,  the  speck  and  cloud  would  disappear 
from  the  ma^ric  mirror  which  his  fancy  had  polished  so  well  for 
his  contemplation. 

Thus   sitting,  musing,  dreaming,  in  that  doubtful   sort   of  eon- 
sciousness  which  serms  to  be  eonally  distant  from  absolute 
or  waking,  M'Kewn    thought    In-    beludd    the  waving  of  an    arm 
and  hand  hef.»re  his   half-shut   eye.      Hi1   fam-ied   that  S-MIH- 
had  taken  up  the  beaker  of  punch  which,  having  sipped  a  little 
of  the  contents,  he  had  ju^t  sot  down.      But  his  energies  wove  fast 
yielding   beneath   the   sluggish    happiness   of  his   dreamy  i 
and,  though  somewhat  conscious  of  a  movement,  and  even  <-f  a 
BOtind,  he  dismissed  it  a-  a  natural  suggestion  of  his  rovery 
and   never  turned   his   head.      A  moment  mav  have   elapsed,  or 
more,  when,  suddenly,  a  hand  was  laid  heavily  upon  his  shoulder. 
lie  unclosed  his  eyes,  and  stared,      lie  w;  s  paralysed.      \Yas  it 
true  —  was  it  a  dream  ?      Did  he  reallv  behold  the  infernal  suuat- 
tor,  Bostwick,  once  more  ?  —  or  was  it  his  drowned,  thrice  damned, 
and  ever  haunted  and  haunting  ghost,  emerging  from  the  depth:- 
of  the  green  sea,  and  following  him  on  the  m:  ic  Mries! 

\Vas  it  the  hand  of  a  spectre  or  a  living  man  that  still  i 
upon  his  shoulder.      Was  there  mortal  speculation  in  those  <;ei\ 
red  eyes  that  now  stared  terrifically  down  into  his  ? 


THE  SQUATTER'S  'VOYHiE  TO  THE   vVEST 


JHAPTER   LX. 

FIOW  THK   SQUATTER    MADE    THE  VOYAGE  TO  THE  WEST  INDIRS 

IN  the  sight  of  M'Kewn  nothing  could  be  more  distinct,  more 
life-like  than  the  spectre.  He  looked  just  as  lie  had  seen  him  a 
thousand  times  before;  the  same  great  red  staring  eyes,  the  same 
expression  in  the  face,  of  a  mixed  savage  and  cunning  nature, 
sly  at  once  and  desperate ;  the  same  small  but  sinewy  figure  ; 
the1  same  lounging,  slovenly  carriage  ;  the  same  person  alto 
gether,  except,  perhaps,  that  each  vicious  quality  of  his  face  was 
exaggerated  ;  the  grin  upon  his  mouth  was  more  satyr-like ;  his 
eyes  were  blood-shot ;  his  cheeks  mottled  with  the  long  con 
tinued  habit  of  intemperance:  his  skin  bronzed  to  a  copper,  yet 
flushed  as  with  the  hues  of  a  warm  sunset.  Was  he  indeed  a 
spectre?  Had  the  grave  given  up  the  dead?  Had  the  seas 
thrown  up  their  victim?  Did  the  spectator  really  dream  or  not? 

M'Kewn  closed  his  eyes,  and  again  opened  them,  thinking  the 
fearful  presence  might  then  be  gone.  There  it  stood,  and  he 
could  no  longer  doubt  the  solid  pressure  of  its  grasp  upon  his 
shoulder.  The  Scotchman  was  paralyzed.  Dead  or  living,  the 
appearance  of  Bostwick  was  now  a  terror.  M'Kewn  was  almost 
in  a  state  of  collapse.  The  cold  sweat,  had  silently  streamed  out 
upon  his  face,  his  neck,  his  breast,  his  whole  body.  His  feet, 
thrown  up  against  the  mantelpiece,  sank  down  to  the  floor  nerve-* 
less;  his  lips  parted,  but  not  for  speech;  only  in  silent  con 
sternation.  But  his  frozen  gaze  never  once  fell  from  that  of  his 
fearful  visitor.  There,  in  utter  silence,  the  one  stood,  the  other 
sat,  gazing  full  upon  each  other.  Bostwick  seemed  to  take  a 
malignant  pleasure  in  fixing  and  fastening  the  other's  eyes,  as 
if  with  a  serpent's  fascination.  After  a  little  while  he  slowly 
withdrew  his  hand,  and  coolly  turning  to  the  table,  filled  him 
self  a  stoup  of  the  whiskey-punch  from  the  silver  vessel,,  into 
the  tumbler  which  M'Kewn  had  used,  and  swallowed  the  contents 


VTOODCBAPT, 

,il  a  single  gulp.  Hf  laid  the  tumbler  down,  then  extended  his  opt/, 
palm  — 

"That  hundred  guineas,  M'Kc\\n:  " 

The   spell    wa>     broken     a>    he     spoke.       M'Kewn    began    to    r< 
cover. 

••  Why,  where  have  y«»u  been  all  this  time.  IJostwick?  " 

"AYhere    did    y<-u    recken    i  \<\   the  bottom  of   the  §e»?— 

In  h—ll's  bla/.es  didn't    you,  and  warn't   you  mighty    -lad    to  think 
Hut    h — 11   ain't    hot   enough    for  either  on   us  yit,  and   when   1 
had    my    la^t    talk    with  the  devil,   he  promiM  d   m<\   a-  h'-w,    \\hei: 
he  did    come    f.-r  me,    he'll   take    \'<u    at   tl  time.       Hut    IK 

don't  want  us  yit.  lie'-  got  more  w.-rk  for  both  on  us  on  thi> 
airth.  You  was  intiivly  wrong,  M'Kewn.  in  trying  to  i:it  rid  of 
me.  V.-ii  kaint  do  without  me.  no  more  than  I  kin  do  without 
you.  We're  b<>ni  l'"r  e.vh  i.tlu-r.  and  \\«'\e  gO(  t"  work  t<>"Hhrr  ;i 
Inni:  time  t"  « 

"  1'iiit  wh'-re  have  you  ]., 

••r.etternot  :d\!  Not  rd/.irtly  whar  you  wanted  me  to  go,  but 
on  the  edge,  M  1  may  -ay.  I  looked  in  at  the  d<-or.  di.ln't 
like  the  looks  of  it.  thr  '<-ommydations  tliey  offered  me,  and 
turned  short  round.  h  was  a  question  wnether  I  should 
or  your  friends.  Drummond.  and  Barton,  ami  F<>rbes  the  eai.j.in, 
or  me.  I  rerkt-n'd  the  l.Ml-in's  would  bett--r  -uit  them  than  me. 

I    let  them  take  my  plaee.      '|'he\  'r>-  ::"}\r  with    th<-  .le-pateln 
made  out  for  me. 

"  What    :  an?     What  de<pat<  i 

"Oh!    you    kno\\  ••„•.    what    it    \\as  you   meant 

them  to  do  tor  me.  liut  the  devil,  h  Come  to  my  help,  and 
made  tin-  sai  vice  ei'ar.  They  got  tin-  pn-1'erener.  and  I  ^riti  up 
])laee  to  Vm." 

'•  What  place?     When-  are  p 

"In  h — 11,  cf  you  wants  to  know;  they'll  never  trouble  y»u 
nor  me  no  more.  The  devil  put  the  eh'ice  before  me  —  either 
them  to  burn  or  me  to  dr  1  I  didn't  want  three  minutes 

to  eonsider.  I  knov,''d  they'd  have  to  irit  usen  to  tire  in  tim<-  to 
eome,  so  I  thought  the  sooner  they  heiran  to  1'arn  the  feel  of  it, 
the  better  for  them." 

"In  the  name  of  God,  Bostwick.  what  do  you  mean?  What  have 
you  done?" 


THE  SQUATTER'S  VOYAGE  TO  THE  WEST  INDIES.    463 

"You're  mighty  slow  to  onderstand,  these  times.  That's  from 
Sieving  such  a  world  of  money.  What  should  I  mean  ?  Your  friends 
took  me  out  to  sea  — " 

"  Is  it  possible!    Took  you  to  sea  ?" 

"  Shet  up,  and  don't  lie  to  me.  'Tain't  no  use,  M'Kewn.  I 
know  you  like  a  book.  We  knows  one  another.  'Twarn't  on 
sea  that  they  were  the  good  fellows  they  was  on  laud.  When 
we  was  in  the  '  castle,'  and  under  the  green  trees,  we  was  friends, 
and  all  on  equal  tairms.  We  played  cards  together,  and  some 
times  they  dreaned  me,  and  sometimes  I  dreaned  them.  At  sea 
the  natur'  changed.  I  was  a  man  of  the  woods  ;  they  made  me 
a  man  of  the  sea.  I  could  climb  trees ;  they  made  me  climb 
ropes.  It  was  no  play  tliar  ;  all  work  ;  they  didn't  wait  to  win 
my  money,  by  a  fair  seven-up.  They  tuk  it  from  me  by  main 
strength  of  hand. —  Then  I  got  the  cat!  The  cat!  You  knows,  I 
reckon,  what  they  calls  the  cat  ?  " 

M'Kewn  professed  to  be  ignorant. 

"You've  got  to  1'arn  it.  I've  promised  Old  Nick  to  do  his 
work,  on  the  very  condition  that,  when  he  gets  us  both,  he  lets 
me  treat  you  to  the  cat  every  night  ;  so  that  you  may  lie  down 
with  a  sartain  softness  in  your  feelin's,  that  ain't  altogether 
sweetness.  That  cat  which  they  gin  to  me  has  left  its  claw- 
marks  on  every  inch  of  my  back  and  body.  But  that  warn't 
enough  for  'em.  AVhen  they  got  right  off  the  place  called  Bar- 
badoes,  they  holds  a  eounciltation  over  me.  What's  to  be  done 
with  me  —  what's  to  be  done  for  you  —  and  they  'grees  'mong 
their  three  selves,  that  the  best  things  for  both  on  us,  is  to  send  me 
over  into  the  sea,  to  look  after  the  great  whale  that  swallowed  Jony, 
the  Philistian  prophet  — 

"  Impossible  !     Did  they  really  mean  to  — 

"  Oh  !  shet  up.  Lying  won't  do  'twixt  us,  'kaise,  you  see, 
we  knows  one  another,  M'Kewn,  and  we've  got  to  work  together, 
by  solemn  contractings.  '  For  the  old  horned  Satan.  Well,  thar 
was  the  land,  jest.  oiT  thar  ;  and  the  night  was  a-coming  on,  and 
the  sea  was  deep,  and  the  shirks  was  a-playiug  about,  and  look 
ing  upward  to  the  ship  with  all-fired  hungry  noses.  And  the 
eounciltation  of  Forbes,  and  Drummond,  and  Barton,  went  on  ; 
and  they  said  these  poor  shirks  must  be  fed  ;  and  this  poor  Bost- 
wick  will  give  'em  mighty  good  feeding  for  a  time  ;  and  when 


464  wool  >'  :;  \  IT. 

he's  gone  we'll  get   the   hundred   guinea-    from    M'Kewn  in    ; 
of   him,  and  we   mu-t  get   -het    of   him    to-night ;  and 

dilation  went  on.  But  the  devil  Mood  my  friend.  ;i!i.l  lie  liid 
me  where  I  could  hear  ail  the  coonciltalion  ;  and  when  they  had 
done,  he  said  to  me  'Now,  li«»t,  \vhelh-r  you're  to  drown,  or 
they  to  burn.  It'-  for  you  to  choose.  Th. 

the  -hirksa  wailing  for  your  supper  :  and  the  m»  v  11  about 

midnight,  and  then  its  fur  you  to  try  the  cold  fed  of  the 
water,  and  B6€  how  deej>  it  is.  and  lind  out  ef  thar's  any  big 
whale  to  take  you  in.  like  .Jony.  tin-  IMiil'  phet,  ami 

you   from  the  >hirks.      Kf  you  waii>  to 

the  water's  your  portion,  and  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  whar  thar's 
no  bottom.  And  when  the  hriganti:  ,|i  to  the  town  in 

the     mornin::.    they'll     report     <M.  '••!!     over! 

night    and    lo>t,  from  taking  too   much    lirpr  that 

they    gin    me  none,  and    I    was  -harp  a-  a    '  the  devil 

— Mhar's  one  way  \<>  Lrit  out  of  danger.'  And  he  vji-.we-il  me 
three  kflgfl  ..f  gunpowder  \\hrn-  they  \\  !  a\\ay:  and 

he    |, .Id     me.   what  ' ;.     eu'rdl-    to     me  to    Tarn,  thai    i  f     that 

gunpowder    only    happened    to  git    the    l.ctle-t    '  i.<     tire,  it 

would  lly  like  old  bla/e-.  and  carry  e\er\!(l.dy  up  into  he.-.v.-n. 
That  was  miu'lity  cu'r^u-,  I  th«»u  Imwed  me  further, 

how    a   thing    moiit   be    managi-d.  called    'a  train. 'and    how    a    man 
setting   in   a   boat  out>ide  of  the  ship,  might    just   touch    the    lire   to 
the    train,    push    olT,    and    see    the     >hip    sail   up    in  the    air.    much 
quicker    than  >he    ever   sailed    through    the  water.      Well. 
I   thought    that    was    better  -port   than    to    »ake    the     \\ater    m 
and    s'arch    for   Jony's    whale;   and    with   the    help    of   Old    Horny 
I  tried  it  •  and.  sure  enough,  oil'  she  went,  ship  and  all,  and  the  • 
counsulters.  and    a   small    chaince«.f   pusaODfl   nii«r«-:anil     lie    j 
found  me  on  the  beach,  and  who  know  .       -t  thar  V     They  said 

1  was  blowed  lhar  by  the  gunpowder;  —  and  now  M'Kewn  that  <  re 
hundred  guineas!" 


THAT   HUXD11ED   GUINEAS.  465 


CHAPTEE    LXI. 

THAT  HUNDRED   GUINEAS! 

IT  was  easy  for  M'Kewn,  even  with  this  hurried  and  imper 
fect  statement  of  the  squatter,  to  gather  the  whole  history  of  his 
enforced  voyage,  and  the  horrible  catastrophe  by  which  it  was 
terminated.  The  cool  and  savage  deliberation  with  which  it 
was  delivered,  did  not,  however,  produce  any  of  those  revolting 
and  crushing  sensations  in  the  mind  of  the  hearer,  which  might 
have  risen  in  that  of  any  person  of  sensibility.  M'Kewn,  like' 
his  companion,  was  callous  and  cold-blooded;  of  so  raijk  a  self 
ishness,  that  sensibility  had  long  since  ceased  to  ^oppose  any  bar 
riers  to  cupidity;  and  whose  shows  of  humanity  —  shows  only  — 
were  simply  employed  in  deference  to  society,  and  with  the  view 
the  better  to  promote  the  objects  of  his  desire.  Instead  of  shud 
dering  and  shrinking  at  what  he  heard,  he  was  employed  in  re 
covering  the  subdued  and  scattered  forces  of  his  mind,  in  order 
to  encounter  the  struggle  which  the  reappearance  of  the  squatter 
necessarily  threatened.  He  knew  the  fellow  too  well  to  suppose 
that  IK;  should  get  off  without  a  conflict,  and  felt  that  he  was  too 
well  understood  by  him,  to  render  available  any  of  the  ordinary 
arts  of  imposition.  The  terms  upon  which  they  stood,  in  regard 
to  each  other,  were  such  that  neither  found  it  of  any  use  to  ef- 
!'<  <•'  virtues  which  he  did  not  possess.  They  had  only  to  treat 
of  crime  and  its  reward,  as  of  any  matter  of  legitimate  business. 
Any  declaration  of  surprise,  any  avowals  of  good  faith,  or  sym 
pathy,  would,  he  well  knew,  be  utterly  wasted  on  the  ears  of  a 
person  who  knew  him  quite  too  well  to  be  imposed  upon  any 
longer.  Accordingly,  wilh  a  manner  the  most  unconcerned,  M'Kewn, 
after  a  brief  p.v.'.se,  remarked  — 

"  And  that  was  the  way  you  got  rid  of  them?" 

"Yes;  jest  so.  It  was  short  and  quick,  and  we  had  no  quai- 
rel.  It  was  a  private  counciliation  on  both  sides,  them  three  on 
one  side,  and  Old  Horny  and  me  on  t'other.  They  were  three 
to  two,  but  we  were  a  little  too  much  of  a  match  for  'em.  It 

20* 


4Gb  WOODCRAFT. 

turned  out  famous  well  for  inc.  The  people  i.-f  Rarhau 
a  Hi'scriptioii  for  me,  and  that  filled  my  pockets  and  I  got  honu1 
with  a  free  passage,  and  didn't  hev'  any  much  work  to  do  : 
though  I  did  a  leetle  to  please  the  eappin.  'Tain't  (jiiite  foul 
days  sence  I  got  to  Charleston,  and  I  pushed  up  here  knowing 
you'd  be  mighty  glad  t<»  hear  of  your  fi  Sends,  and  how  you 
wouldn't  hev'  to  till  their  pouches  any  more.  I  reckon  it's  a 
great  gain  to  you,  the  lo>s  of  tin  in  men.' 

"Gain!      I:'  to  me  of  thousands.      I    owned  one  third 

of  that  vessel  and    cargo.      1  owned  sixty-nine  of  the  negroes  in 
her." 

"  Diccance  !  I'll  hev'  to  'low  their  valley  out  of  the  amount 
you  i>\M-s  inr.  then.  It's  only  fair  !  Let  me  see  :  thai 'swh.it 
you  owed  me  afore  I  v,  nit  to  B68  ;  ue'll  reckon  tliat  at  a  thou 
sand  guineas;  thar's  the  carrying  me  to  iea  agin  my  will,  and 
only  to  pleasure  you;  that  I  rallies  at  live  thousand  guiiivM.; 
more,  and  cheap  at  that,  I  tell  you;  but  we'll  -..y  fne  tlioe 
—  that's  six  thousand.  Then,  thar's  tin  scare  I  had  from  the 
shirks  and  the  drowning,  all  on  your  account  ;  that  ought  fo  he 
a  thousand  guineas  more  ;  then,  thar's  the  .Celling  mv  soul  to  the 
Old  Horny,  to  get  out  of  the  hands  of  them  fellows.  A  free 
white  man's  soul  ought  to  lie  worth  something,  a:;d  we'll  call  it 
a  thousand  guineas  more  ;  that  makes  eight  thousand  ;  then, 
thar's  the  onhappiness  I  had  to  skyrocket  them  three  g.nnl  fel 
lows  to  heaven  ;  that  was  a  great  onhappine»,  and  !  valley  my 
sulYeiia's  mighty  high;  hut  we'll  say  two  th.-u.-and  guineas 
more;  and  that,  in  round  numhers,  will  he.  ten  thousand  guineas; 
and,  out  <>f  that.  I'm  to  low  for  them  sixty-nine  niggers  of  yur'-n 
that  went  up  in  the  skyrocketing.  I  reckon  they  mout  he  ral 
lied  at  fifty  guineas  apiece:  —  how  much  is  that  in  all?  Count 
up,  jM'Kewn,  I'm  guinc  to  'low  for  all." 

"  Pshaw  !     What  are  you  talking  about  ?" 

•'  What  em  J  talking  about  ?  I'll  tell  you,  and  you  may  jest 
pick  your  ears  that  you  may  hear  it  plain.  Thar's  an  account 
of  life  and  death  to  settle  atween  us,  M'Kewn,  that  may  be  set 
tied  up  with  money,  ef  you've  the  scnsb  to  ondcrstand  what's 
best  for  you.  You'll  pay  it  out  of  your  pocket,  ef  you're  sensi 
ble  ;  ef  you're  a  fool,  it  comes  out  of  your  heart.  To  pay  for  it 
in  money,  won't  drean  your  pocket ;  to  pay  for  it  in  blood,  will 


THAT   HUNDRED    GUINEAS.  467 

go  nigh  to  drean  your  body  of  all  it's  got.  I  kn,  ws  what  I  say?> 
I  knows  that  I  kin  hang  you  jest  when  I  pleases,  and  I  don't 
own  you  any  love  that  I  should  keep  my  hands  off.  But  I  kin 
sell  my  hate  and  my  love  together.  Everything  I've  got  is  to 
sell,  cf  so  l>o  I'm  well  paid  for  it ;  and  you  must  buy  from  me 
at  my  prices,  or  I'll  bankcorrupt  you,  as  they  calls  it.  You'll 
hev'  to  feed  me  and  find  me,  me  and  my  fam'ly,  my  wKo  and 
my  children,  jest  so  long  as  you  lives  and  we  lives;  and  you'll 
hev'  to  feed  us  well ;  and  to  begin,  I'm  a-wanting  jest  one  hun 
dred  guineas  to-night,  and  next  week,  I'll  be  a-wanting,  prehaps, 
a  hundred  more.  I'm  guirie  to  buy  property;  I'm  guifie  into  a 
speculation  for  the  good  of  my  fam'ly.  You  hear  it  all.  I  put 
it  plain  before  you.  It's  jest  for  you  to  say  whether  it's  peace 
or  war;  fair  tarrns  or  foul;  money  or  blood  !" 

This  was  all  plain  enough,  delivered  in  a  manner  the  most 
downright  and  direct,  the  squatter  confronting  the  Scotchman  at 
the  distance  of  a  single  pace,  and  his  hand  flourishing  at  mo 
ments  in  the  very  face  of  the  latter.  When  he  had  finished 
speaking,  he  again  turned  to  the  whiskey  punch,  unasked,  and 
repeated  his  draught. 

M'  Kewn  listened  with  chilled  sensations.  He  understood  but 
too  well  the  existing  terms  between  himself  and  his  enemy.  He 
saw  that  nothing  had  been  exaggerated  in  the  speech  of  the 
squatter.  The  latter  truly  had  him  at  his  mercy ;  and  he  felt 
that  he  was  destined  to  continue  exactions,  so  long  as  Bostwick 
or  himself  should  live.  There  was  no  evasion  of  the  incumbrance, 
and  the  time  was  gone  by,  utterly,  when  the  employee  could  be 
put  off  or  deceived.  He  had  no  remaining  subterfuges  against 
a  foe  so  wily,  and  so  well-informed  in  respect  to  his  character. 
Meanwhile,  the  squatter  seemed  to  amuse  himself  surveying  the 
apartment,  which  was  large,  lofty,  highly  finished,  richly  hung 
with  drapery,  and  with  fine  pictures  hanging  against  the  walls. 
A  sabre,  between  a  pair  of  silver-mounted  pistols,  was  among 
these  decorations.  The  squatter's  eye  took  in  all. 

"  You're  a-living  like  a  fighting  cock,  M'Kewn,"  said  he,  with 
a  ctigagcc  air  that  was  quite  distressing  to  the  Scotchman,  and 
served  to  increase  his  irritation.  "  Now,  I'm  a-wanting  to  live 
easy  and  like  a  fighting  cock,  too,  but  don't  you  think  I'm  a- 
wanting  to  hev'  sich  fine  things  i1!  my  cabin  They  doesn't  suit 


468  > OCR A  IT. 

eicli  as  me,  and  agin,  I  doesn't  care  to  hev*  fin.  What  I  wants 
is  a  sartainty  for  myself,  and  f'-r  I>"iy.  That's  all;  anil  the 
sartainty  must  be  a  respectable  one,  A  nice1  little  house  and 
farm,  and,  prehaps,  two  or  three  nigg-  .k  in  the  field,  and 

an  old  woman  to  cook,  and  a  gal  to  i  >f  waiting-maid  to 

little  Dory." 

To  this,  M'Kewn   only   answered  with   an   "All! — Well  !  — 
Ye-!"  hut  his  eyes  followed  the  movements  of  the  squatter  with 
an  intensity  of  interest  which    gave    them    a  wild 
Meanwhile,  though  st.-:  tit,  with  an  air  of  inebriate  har 

dihood  and  indifference,  tha!    Beema  fill   of  not! 

the  squatter  migl.t  1  6  v  Q  I  .-eh  mi  the  Scotch- 

man,  which  nei  him; 

l.ut  this  was  not  pi-rceptibh-  to  M'K«-wn.      Highly  . 
own  reflections  upon  the  desp'-ra'e  bondage  in  uhich  lie  felt  him- 
.-tdf  plaee  1.  tli--  usual  vigilance  of  this  COM!  an 

:ed.      Hi-  -  r-d    to  hind    him  B 

what  at  the  \ny  moment  when  •  .  ult\    should  h.ivr,  heen 

most  aeul  i  and  observant.      His  thoughts,  undr 

influence  of  t!  i.      AVa> 

there  no  escape  from  the  a; 
lie   plagued    perpetually    without    any  h'  : 

tor  ever  to  he  made  to  fear  for  his  secret,  particularly  now,  when, 
this  danger  (juiete.i,  his  position  in  Hf,  night 

become  altogether  triumphant. 

It  was  past  midnight.      The  house  was   i|iiiet.      The 
were  all  retired  and  asleep.      Nobody  had  seen  the  squatter  en 
ter.     Nobody    knew    of   his    visit.     The    rain    was   now    falling 
heavily;    the  winds  beat   sullenly  against  the  shutter.     Night 
and  storm  were  auxiliaries  to  a  deed  of  blood.     Why  should  lu 
not  quiet  the  foe  for  ever,  by  a  single  blow  ?     Why  not,  b\ 
sudden,  desperate  deed,  relieve  himself  for  ever  from  this  haunt 
ing,  harrowing  arrogance  ;  this  perpetual  danger,  which  promised 
never  to  suffer  him  to  repose  in  security  ?     His  eye  rested  upon 
the  pistols  which  hung  upon  the  wall.     They  were  both  In.- 
he  knew  —  charged  with  a  brace  of  bull  its.     They  were  such  as 
he  could  well  rely  on.     The  suggestion  coursed  rapidly  through 
his  mind.     It  grew  in  force  ;  it  ripened  to  conclusion  ;  it  became 
a  resolutiow      In  a  moment,  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  whirled  aside 


THAT    HUNDRED   GUINEAS.  .         469 

the  great  chair  upon  which  he  had  been  sitting,  and  darted  tow 
ard  the  pistols. 

But,  resolute  as  was  his  determination,  secret  and  sudden  of 
purpose,  and  prompt  of  execution,  he  was  too  late.  The  squat 
ter  knew  his  man,  had  suffered  none  of  his  movements  to  escape 
him,  and  i^hen  M'Kewn  stretched  out  his  hand  to  grasp  the 
weapons  upon  the  wall,  he  encountered  the  squatter.  Bostwiek 
stood  between,  and,  instead  of  arming  himself,  M'Kewn  fomu1  a 
pistol  at  his  own  breast. 

"  Keep  quiet,  now,  M'Kewn,  and  git  back  to  your  easy  cLair. 
It  is  not  your  time  yit,  nor  is  it  mine.  I  don't  want  to  hurt  you, 
but  I  knows  you,  and  will  jest  keep  a  p 'inter  upon  your  motions, 
tell  I  has  my  axings." 

•'  Devil !  Would  you  murder  me  ?  Would  you  drive  me  to 
madness  ?" 

"  Well,  twarn't  good  sense  in  me  to  be  doing  either  one,  so 
long  as  I  gits  what  I  wants  by  easy  means.  But,  rether  than 
not  git  it,  I'd  kill  you  soon  enough,  and  drive  you  to  the  devil, 
and  to  madness,  and  eny  whar*  you  choose,  and  not  sp'ile  my 
appetite  in  doing  it.  Set  you  down,  I  tell  you,  and  don't  be 
making  yourself  a  redickilous  figger!" 

"  What  is  it  you  want  ?"  was  the  demand  of  M'Kewn,  half- 
moved  to  rush  upon  the  fellow  in  defiance  of  the  pistol. 

"  Well,  that's  a  foolish  question  arter  all  I've  been  a-telling 
you.  I  wants  a  leetle  of  iny  rights.  To  begin  —  a  hundred 
guineas,  which  I  must  hev'  this  very  night." 

"  That's  impossible.     I  don't  keep  money  in  the  country  !" 

"  That's  nothing  to  me.  You  must  find  it.  I  don't  quit  you, 
M'Kewn,  till  I  gits  the  gould  guineas,  one  hundred  on  'em,  in 
this  very  hand.  Set  you  down  quiet,  and  think  over  the  different 
draws,  or  holes,  whar'  you  hides  away  your  yallow-birds.  As 
for  gitting  at  the  pistols,  while  I  has  a  pair  on  'em  myself,  cram 
med  to  the  muzzle  with  bullets,  that's  onpossible,  and  you  knows 
it.  Set  down  quiet,  and  think  over  what  you  hev'  to  do.  I'll 
give  you  time  for  the  thinking." 

M'Kewn  drew  back  submissively,  and  sank  into  the  seat  again. 
As  he  did  so,  the  squatter  took  down  the  pistols  from  the  wall  and 
stuck  them  into  his  belt. 

'*  It's  only  a  removing  the  temptation  from  your  eyes." 


470  woo nu:  A  IT. 

This  done  he  began  to  pace  the  room  languidly  as  before,  at  time 
humming  the  words  and  air  of  a  song  of  vulgar  independence,  then 
quite  popular  among  the  whigs,  but  the  words  of  which  have  only  in 
part  de-e.-nded  to  our  tin 

Tvr  110  m»m-y,   I've-  no  lainls, 

YI  t  i  oarry  Fearless  hamis. 

And   i   1'i-ir  no  lonl'-i     mnmamN. 

him  tlmml-T  a-  lie  i 
I've  the  >1reii'j-t!i  to  ,).)  my  part, 
Stromr  of  arm,  ami  stout  of 
And   I  do  inn  ear, 

Here  If'&ewn'a  voice  broke  in  up-.n  that  of  ti..-  MI 

••  \:.  ;  ,u  thi-.  hundred  -i:inea-.  !!ostwick.  are  you  p:v 

i  i,,  d<'li\<  e  paper-  in  the  boi  of  M«.  Kvelicgh  ?  " 

1  Not  ed/aetly  !  YOU  don't  git  them  d-  ^  K-  wn,  tell  you 

plank  down  one  hundred  more  guineas,  on  the  nail,  and  I'll  ixpeet 
you  to  do  that  very  thing  by  the  middle,  of  next  u< 

TllC  ^colehmaii  avain  started  up  in  a  fury. 

"  Easy,  .M'Kewn  ;  take  it  easy,  and   it'll   be  BO  much  the  better  for 

your  nan          J      're  tlun-ied.  and  thar's  no  use  for  it.      Don't  \  on 

to  ii  ':     Thar's  no  ._rjni,,,r  ,,\\\" 

.M'Kewn  groaned  aloud;   then  turning  to  the  silver  flagon  which 
had  held  the  punch,  he  ;  I,  with  trembling  hands,  to  pour  its 

contents  into  a  tumbler. 

"That's  right  :       It'll   steady  your  narves.      I'm  only  atear'd  I've 
left  vou  too  small  a  sup  !  " 

moth  .M'Kewn.  quickly.       "  I'll  step  dov.n  Stairs  and  get 
a  fresh  supply.      You'll  be  wanting  more  a! 

"Quiet.  M'Kewn.      You  doesn't  leave  this  room  ontell   I  gels  my 
guineas." 

.'.iid.  with  the  words,  the  squatter  coolly  locked  the  door,  and  put 
the  key  into  his  pocket. 

"Damnation,  man!      Do  you  mean  to  make  me  a  prisoner  in  my 
own  hoii- 

"Oh!   psho  !   sue!  up  !      What    made   it   your    house   any    more 

than  mine?     Only  bekaise   you  had   better  skill   in  roguery.     K!    I 

-  out  here   onsaiNtied.  M'Kewn,  your  house  goes  to   the  devil 

and   you    'l-'iig   with    it!      Don't    you    understand    yit,    that    I   kin 

tear  you  out  of  it,  by  the  hands  of  Johnny  Ketch,  the  born  rope- 


THAT  HUNDKED   GUINEAS.  471 

stretcher.  Be  sensible,  and  git  the  guineas ;  and  then  you  may  git 
the  drink.*' 

M'Kewn  resumed  his  seat;  and  sternly  regarded  his  persecutor, 
jo  longer  concealing,  or  seeking  to  conceal,  the  venomous  hatred 
of  his  heart,  betraying  itself  without  disguise,  in  every  feature  of  his 
face. 

"Well,"  said  Bostwick,  "you're  looking  now  more  honest-like 
fhan  I've  seed  you  for  many  a  day.  You'll  be  letting  me  hev'  those 
guineas,  I  see.  That's  the  right  sense.  You  hev'  no  chaince, 
M'Kewn.  I'm  a-top  of  you  this  time  ! " 

The  words  were  those  of  truth  and  soberness,  however  strange, 
coming  from  such  lips.  M'Kewn  felt  them  to  be  so.  He  had  been 
put  in  check  at  every  point  of  the  game,  and  to  avoid  checkmate  it 
was  necessry  to  sacrifice  a  few  pawns.  However  reluctant  to  receive 
this  conviction,  it  came  to  him  at  last. 

"You  shall  have  the  guineas;  but  I  must  have  the  box  of 
papers." 

"All  in  good  time  !  It'll  take  a  hundred  guineas  more,  I  tell  you, 
M'Kewn,  afore  you  gets  them  papers." 

"And  when  am  I  to  have  them  ?  " 

"  Next  week,  when  I  wants  the  other  hundred  guineas." 

"And  then  ?" 

"Well!    What  then?" 

"  Am  I  then  to  be  rid  of  you  for  ever  ?  " 

"For  over's  a  long  time,  M'Kewn,  and  I  kaint  quite  answer: 
but  I  rether  think  you'll  never  be  rid  of  me  ;  for,  as  I  tell'd  you, 
Old  Horny  has  promised  that  we  shall  keep  together  all  the 
time,  work  together  on  this  airth,  and  go  to  him  together;  and 
when  thar"  —  pointing  downward — "I'm  to  give  you  a  little 
taste  of  that  same  cat  that  has  left  its  claw  marks  all  over  my 
body." 

"Pshaw  !" 

"You  may  'pshaw'  as  much  as  you  please,  but  I  tell  you  — 
whether  I  seed  or  haird,  or  only  dreamed  it,  I  kaint  say — but  as 
I'm  a  living  sinner,  /  think,  I  seed  the  devil  in  his  own  nateral 
shape ;  something  more  than  a  human,  something  less  than  a 
beast.  —  a  mighty  fearsome  sort  of  a  cross  between  a  big  man  and 
a  wild  animal,  nara  one  nor  t'other  cdzactly,  and  looking  a  heap 
like  both,  and  talking  like  a  imn,  ",o  I'lat  I  could  e>??cler*tand  ; 


472  WOOIH'KAIT. 

and  he  tell'd  me  the  same  words  I  tell  you,  which  was — •  i 
wi<-k,   wrhcn  I   comes  for  you,    I'll   call   for    M'Kcwn  at   tin;  same 
time.     You're  bound   to  come  together.'     Thar!   believe  it   a-  you 
choose,  only  get  me  the  guin» 

"  And  if  I  n«»\v  give  you  a  hundred  guineas — " 

"  Next  week  another  hundred.'' 

"You  will  then  give  me  up  the  papers,  and  rid  me  for  ever  of 
your  presence  ~: '' 

"That   last    thing,    M'Kewn.  y<    .  HIP   devil    ^peaks    truth 

at   all,   is  unite  "//posvjhl.-  :  and   I  ain't  the  man  to   lly  in   the   face 
of  the  devil,   and   say    I    w«  •  I    n  <-kon 

I'll  liev'  to  s,.(.  you   whem  ver  I  Hit   after  them  two 

hundred  guineas,    I'll  give  you  a  long  n  -t       ma; 
or  more." 

M'Kewn  relleeted.  and  determined  to  It  ave  the  promised  -,  eurily, 
for  the  present,  to  t lie  chapter  of  ehaiH  •  (in  timeisihe 

object    willt    every   politician  whom    stubborn   necessity  tli 
gravel.      M'Ke\vn   had   a   faith    in    a    sort    of   devil    providi-ne,  .      He 
meditated  to  himself  - 

••  If  1  can  get    the  papers  out   of  him,  and  be  sure  of   -i\   in- 
forbearance,   much  may  be  done  —  much   may  happen   in  that   time. 
1  -hall  not   always  be   locked   up  and    ffeaponteas,    in   a  close    mum. 
The  pistols  need  not  aluays  he  upon  the  wall,      lie  may   lie    found 
napping  in  turn.      In  that  i-  my  hope."     Aloud  — 

"You  shall  have  your  hundred  guineas  llosiwick.  DOWJ 
next  week,  when  you  brin.ir  me  the  papers,  you  shall  have  another 
hundred." 

"  That's  beinu  sensible,   i 

"  Uut  1  must  then  be  rid  of  you.      Ilemcmber  that  !  " 

"Well!     That's  just   a>  it  happens,    M'Kewn.      I'm    sure    it's   not 
you  1  want>  to  B66  any  time,  and  ef  you  kin  lind  out  the  R 
my    hand    with    the  gould  chickens  when   1   wantfi     em,    I'd    : 
darken  your  door  in   a    hundred   years   of   Sundays.     Hut  qu 
M'Kewn  ;  I've  irot  a  stretch  of  had  riding  to  do  yit  hefore  dayp 

"The  money   is  in   that    chest,"    said   the   Scotchman,    as   if   to 
himself.     He  crossed  the  room  toward  the  chest  which  stood  in  the 
opposite  corner,  stooped  o.nd  prepared  to  open  it.     The 
vigilance  did  not  desert  him.     His  reflections  were  of  this  sort — 
unuttered,  of  course. 


THAT   HUNDRED    GUINEAS.  473 

"He's  got  other  we'pons  in  that  cliist,  perhaps;  other  pistols, 
loaded  with  double  bullets.  He  don't  catch  this  weasel  asleep  this 
time  !" 

M'Kcwn  opened  the  chest,  which  contained  a  variety  of  things. 
There  was  money — gold  and  silver  in  an  open  box  ; — there  were 
trinkets  of  value,  several  large  pieces  of  plate  —  and  sure  enough, 
conspicuous  over  all,  a  splendid  pair  of  pistols,  easy  at  hand,  ready  for 
use.  The  hand  of  M'Kewn  hung  indecisively  over  the  open  chest. 
There  was  the  gold  on  one  side,  there  the  pistols  on  the  other.  The 
fingers  clutched  one  of  the  pistols.  He  raised  his  head  cautiously, 
and  cast  his  eyes  upward.  The  squatter  stood  immediately  over  him, 
with  the  muzzle  of  his  own  formidable  pistol  staring  him  in  the 
face.  Bostwick,  stealthy  as  a  wild  cat,  had  crept  behind  him, 
weapon  in  hand,  and  was  peering  down  into  the  chest,  ready  for 
any  event.  He  laughed  aloud  as  he  saw  the  action  of  the  Scotch 
man. 

"  T'wont  do,  M'Kcwn  !  This  wenscl  never  sleeps  when  he's  in  the 
fowl  house." 

M'Keen  quietly  laid  down  the  weapon  he  had  grasped,  and 
gathered  Tip  the  gold.  The  signs  in  his  horoscope  were  not  then 
friendly.  lie  must  wait  events, —  have  patience,  and  look- to  an 
other  shuffle  of  the  cards.  The  money  was  counted  out,  paid  and 
received. 

"  Look  for  me  next  week,  M'Kewn,  and  be  ready  with  the  other 
hundred . " 

"And  see  that  you  bring  the  papers  ;  for  I  tell  you,  Bostwick,  if  I 
die  for  it,  you  get  not  another  shilling  till  I  have  the  papers." 

"You  shill  hev  'em,  and  the  account  will  then  be  squared  between 
us,  of  all  that  happened  before  you  shipped  me  for  the  shirks.  But 
after  that,  we  must  have  new  reckonings." 

"D — n  his  reckonings  !'' exclaimed  M'Kewn,  after  he  was  gone. 
"  Once  deprived  oftho.se  papers,  and  I  do  not  fear  him.  Ilia  evidence 
will  not  be  worth  a  straw  in  any  court." 

The  squatter  again  popped  his  head  suddenly  into  the  chamber: 

"  I'll  leave  your  pistols  for  you,  M'Kewn,  outside  the  door,  down 
stairs.  But  shan't  we  have  a  sup  of  that  same  liquor  together  afore  I 
leave  you." 

"  Begone —  no  !"    The  squatter  grinned  only — 

"  Well,  good  night,  M'Kewn  ;  what's  left  of  it !" 


474 


CHATTEL'     LXIII 

TIM:  BQUATTBB   I  N   HIS  CABIN. 

The    squatter    did    n<>t     show     him-elf    to    any    other    QJQB    thai 
nii:ht.       He  did  not   proceed    to  iln-    e;il.in    when    his  wife  and  cllil 
dren    dwelt.       He     hou-ed    him-elf    in   i!,.    -\\amp  with     hi 
trea-nre.        Hi-     found     thi-    safe.         I!; 
found  out;    hi-  ho\  of  guinea-   ;,IM!    papers    imd   been  in 
in   the   -ame  condition    as  when    he  left    it.       Crouched     in    the  hoi 
10W  of  the  rypfe  — .    lr     ^!rpt    over     ;  !     Hot     I'll).  I;"'    the    ' 

day  till  the  sun  wa-  hi-rh  in    the    h-  Th'-n   lie     i  —  ui-d    foi'th. 

and  stood  slill.  in  tin-  shelter    oft]  .  but  UJ-MI,  the  diy  land. 

lie  made  hi-  \\.-iy  to  tin-  >priu^  v/liirh.  a'oout  a  <|U:,U  r  of  a  mile 
from  hi-  .Iwellin.ir.  supplied  \\\<  '  I  iii 

one   of  ii,  •  -ret.   miuiiiru -i\«-   b  modestly 

from  the  earth  }\\A  on  the  edgefl  •  t  the  -\\amp.  sueli  a-  fiU'iu  ;i 
peculiar  feature  in  our  forest  country;  a  little  hollow,  \\ithclear 
white  -and  at  the  bottom,  and  ;,  ill  about  it,  with 

the    water-    ^n-hiiii;    out    silently    fmni  a  couple    of    small    eye*     in 
the  hank.-ide.        Shaded     l»y    uM'eat     ti'ee-x   of  ihe    fore-t.it  \\ , 
cool,   and  with    a     tnlerahly    rapid   course    to    the    swamp,    it 
always    clear    and    pure.        The     -quatier    knew    where    to   !"(>U   foi 
the  i;i',t'>,ix,'i.   the  eu])  of  irourd,   lian-inLT  from   a  liou;.-!)    of    ihe 
just    over   it.       He    dipped  and  drank  —  drank    deeph    •>»'  the  deli 
cious    waters — then    .-toopin--,    bathed    his    head    and    neck    in    the 
runninir   stream.       This    done,    he  threw  him-elf   «lown    amo:iv;   the 
beside    it,   with    an    air    uf    c \hausiion    and    languor  quitiMin- 
\vi;nted  in  liis  u.-ual  habit. 

In  truth,  his  appearance  was  that    »f   a    dJ  :id  almost  d< - 

ranged    man.       His    face  hunu-d  with   fever,   his  eyea    were  L)L 
shot     and    prominent,  almost    seeming   lo   start   : 
mouth   lay   open  and    he  panted  with  the    least    exertion.       As  In- 
walked    his    motion    was    unsici.dy,    and    hi.>    liml<- 
neath    him.       lie    rose  after    a    while.  drank,    a: 

dipped    his    head    into    the    waters.       Scarcely    Imd  he  left  ti 


THE   SQUATTER    IN   HIS    CABIN,  475 

cnce  more  retiring  among  the  trees,  when  his  keen  ear  detected 
the  sound  of  approaching  voices.  His  instincts  at  once  prompted 
him  to  hide  himself;  which  he  did  without  effort,  among  the 
shrubs  near  at  hand.  Very  soon  he  beheld  the  persons  of  the 
intruders.  These  were  no  other  than  young  Arthur  Eveleigh  attend 
ing  his  own  pretty  daughter. 

Dory,  whom  he  had  not  seen  before  now,  since  his  return, 
was  wonderfully  improved.  She  had  grown  evidently  taller  in 
six  months.  She  was  now  at  that  interesting  period  of  life  when 
the  girl  may  be  said  to  glide  into  the  woman.  She  was  preco 
cious,  and  her  air  and  manner  were  in  advance  of  her  years. 
She  had  caught  up  quickly,  in  her  occasional  visits  to  Mrs.  Eve 
leigh,  the  graces  of  a  higher  sphere  of  life  than  that  to  which 
she  belonged,  and  it  was  with  a  natural  pride  that  the  eyes  of  the 
squatter  beheld  the  mixed  ease,  simplicity,  and  animation  of  her 
movements.  Her  features  were  as  beautiful  as  ever  ;  her  form 
showed  to  more  advantage  in  the  better  costume  which  the  widow 
had  provided  her  ;  the  lively  flashing  of  her  eye,  and  the  clear, 
silvery  flute-like  accents  of  her  voice,  declared  a  pure  happiness  of 
the  heart,  such  as  she  had  seldom  before  betrayed  in  the  sight 
of  her  father. 

At  the  first  sight  of  his  child,  the  heart  of  the  squatter  bounded 
within  him,  will)  a  pleasurable  and  exulting  sensation.  She  was 
bi»!  She  was  the  only  one,  perhaps,  or  all  his  household,  who 
had  somehow  found  the  way  to  his  rugged  and  spasmodic  affec 
tions.  But,  after  a  few  moments,  the  natural  selfishness  of  a  bad 
heart  suggested  that  the  girl  had  improved  in  grace,  beauty, 
health,  and  showed  improved  fortunes,  and  joy,  and  hope,  and 
animation,  though  he  the  father  had  been  a  wanderer  —  though 
he  had  been  tossed  about  wearily  in  distant  lands,  in  dread,  and 
strife,  and  danger  —  and,  for  all  he  knew,  might  be  dead, 
drowned,  or  sacrificed  with  brutal  ferocity  to  the  vengeance  of  his 
enemies . 

For  a  while  the  bitter  feeling  inspired  by  this  reflection  pre 
dominated  over  all  others.  But  this  disappeared  when  he  looked 
upon  Arthur  Eveleigh,  and  witnessed  the  lively  interest  which 
that  young  man  seemcdV  to  take  in  his  beautiful  child.  Dory 
c.iiTied  a  bucket,  with  which  she  designed  to  bring  water  from 
the  spring.  It  was  not  a  large  or  weighty  vessel,  but  Arthur 


would   have   snatched   it    from   her,  and  carried  it  hi: 

refused  and  jerked  it  away,  ami.  la 

darted  from  him.  living  like  a-  fa1.-. 

him.     lie,  of  coiir-e,   pur-urd,  ami  a  playf;; 

the  -primr  ;i-  to  \\  h-    ihouM  til!  tin-  Ituekct. 

•  you,  Arthur  !  "  said  the  child,  kerpin  In  mind  the 

superior  social  position  of  i  ::ion. 

I'm   the    able-t.  tl.. 

not  riirht    that    a    irirl    like  yi'ii   -h«»uld  do  Mich    thin;.:-       I   will    lill 
it." 

•'  Well,  you  may  help  me.     I'll  lill  it    half,  and  you  shall  fill  the 
other." 

ry  well  ;  hut   I  wan? 
bash    for   me.  and    I'll   lill  it    then    for  you.  :    to  dnnk.    1 

SUpp' 

"  Ye-  '     I'll   do  that  '     'I  nd  >h«-  handed 

LTourd  filled  willi  l!i.    iwed  ainl  H>:ir!Ji: 

He  ii;»jxtnl    thai    She   -Imuld  drink,    but   sln»  n-f  ''.utely, 

and    he  did    \\<  It,    but    ^ati^tled   hi<    tliir^t.  Ill- 

water    remainiiiL:  in   the     cu;  it    in    the    ru: 

MI;    then     dipped    up    a    t'n-h     supply    .  ! 

was    gently    -"lieitous,  fond   and  playful,  but   studiou 

;md    re-pectful.    Between  them   the   be  1  finally. 

not    in    the   sli  .      Tiiev    pralllr.l. 

boy,  over  every  gourd  <>r  vrater  which  they  lifted  up;  and  9 

tli'\    were   done.   Arthr.r  -••i/cd  upon  th:-  l»ueke' 
bear  it  otV. 

"  ( )h  !  you  musn't ,  Arthur  ;  mother  will  lie  vexed 
doim:  such  work." 

"  Work,  indeed  !  why  it's  n-itliiii-.r  to  me,  i  '  BTy  ii." 

"  ^"(•-.   but  1   can't   let   you  ;   mother  will   think  il's   unwov 
you."     And    she    st-i/rd    upon    the    handle,    but    Arthur    r< 
yield  it. 

In    pulling   o]>p(»sitc  ways,     the    water  l.cuiri   to 
by    mutual   COM--.-  nl.    the   tw.« 

before    Dory   could    suspect    his    purpose.    Arthur     ] 
about    (he   waist,  and    b  .    her   burning 

\ips. 

"  Oh  !  Arthur,  you  promised  ine  you  would'tdo  so  u.iraiii." 


THE   SQUATTER   I2ST   HIS   CABIK.  477 

"  Well,  why  did  you  fight  with  me  for  the  bucket,  Dory,"  was  the 
pert  reply  of  the  boy. 

"I  didn't  fight  with  you.  You  know  I  ought  to  carry  it. 
Mother—" 

"Oh!  don't  tell  me  about  your  mother.  You  are  always  talking 
as  if  she  was  the  greatest  scold  in  the  world.  Now  I  know  she  never 
scolds  you  at  all.  So,  no  more  of  that,  Dory.  You  take  one  side  of 
the  handle  and  I'll  take  the  other,  and  we'll  carry  the  bucket  so 
together. 

The  compromise  was  acceptable,  and  the  two  disappeared  with 
their  burden,  prattling  away  all  the  secrets  of  their  young  hearts, 
never  once  dreaming  who  had  been  the  listener.  When  they 
were  gone,  the  squatter  fell  into  a  fit  of  musing,  in  spite  of  his 
feverish  and  suffering  condition,  for  he  now,  himself,  felt  that  he 
was  really  ill. 

"Ef  he  would  marry  her  now,  she'd  desarve  it.  She's  a  most 
beautiful  and  blessed  looking  child  as  I  ever  did  see.  She's 
beautiful  and  sweet  enough  to  be  the  wife  of  any  man.  But 
'tain't  possible  that  sich  a  thing  could  happen.  His  motherwould 
be  agin  it.  When  he  grow'd  a  little  older  and  more  knowing, 
he'd  be  agin  it.  .  People  would  talk.  He'd  hear  'em  speak  of 
the  Squatter  Bostwick.  He'd  hear  'em  tell  of  how  she  was  the 
child  of  a  poor  man,  that  lived  in  a  cabin  ;  and  who  was,  alto 
gether,  a  most  bad  man,  and  a  rascal.  And  how  could  he  stand 
that?  No!  he  couldn't  stand  it.  He  couldn't  marry  her:  and 
so  there  must  be  no  love  doings  betwixt  'em.  I  must  take  care 
of  that!  Dory  is  too  blessed  a  child  to  have  a  man  fooling  about 
her  when  he  can't  never  marry  her:  and  I  must  take  care  of 
her;  and  I  must  take  care  of  him;  and  ef  I  finds  him  at  eny 
mischief,  I'll  put  a  knife  into  him  jest  as  soon  as  I  would  stick 
a  pig,  and  a  great  deal  sooner,  too." 

Again  the  squatter  moved  down  to  the  spring,  and  drank.  He 
was  really  suffering.  He  lounged  or  lay  about  in  the  woods  for 
some  hours.  Why  he  still  kept  away  from  his  cabin  and  his 
family,  it  would  be  difficult  to  conjecture.  But  he  only  drew 
nigh  to  it  at  night ;  and  then,  under  a  sense  of  suffering  which 
rendered  him  inaccessible  to  the  sense  of  fear.  He  found  his  way 
in  at  last,  and  immediately  took  to  his  bed.  His  illness  increased, 
His  wife  gave  him  some  simple  medicines,  but  they  afforded  him 


.j;s  WOODCRAFT, 

no  relief.     For  several  days  he  l:iy  upon  a  couch  of   pain,  without 
.'  -foment  of  his  mind  increasing  with  the  incivax;  <>f 
>.     At  length  lu-  called  Dory  to  his  bedside. 

"  Dory,  y.i-.i   inu-t    ir<»  to   M'Ke-.\n   l'-,r   inc.      You  know   M'Kewn. 
You  know  where  lie  li 

•'  Yes,   father!      I    saw   him  when   I  was  staying  with   Mr-.   ' 


"What!  you  staying  with  Mrs.  Kb'lei«rh?  Hut  never  mind 
lint  now.  You  must  go  to  M'Kewn,  and  tell  him  to  com*-  to  me 
to-night;  I  wants  iiim.  I  must  we  him  hen-;  and  don't  you 
lake  any  'senses,  you  hear!  He  mu-t  mine.  Tell  him  I'll  fix 
the  thing  for  him.  lie  shall  In  v  the  papers,  l.ut  tell  him  In 
to  bring  th«-  g-nild.  And  lo..k  you.  IWy.  don't  ynu  let 

:  "   cut   through    Hi--  woods;    and    don't 

•line    now    in    the    widow's    and    d<>nt    you    !«•!    anyli"dy  1 

nothing  of  wh>  and  whar  you're  guine.     Now.  you  « 

stand?" 

•her." 

"  Well.  let  me  he-ir  what  \oifve 

Sin-  repeated  his  in-t  ructions. 

"Very  well;  and  now  be  olT  as  soon  as  you  kin.  I'm  in  a  hurry, 
yon 

The  girl  olicycd.  Of  what  nature  was  the  hurry  of  which  the 
squatter  -puke,  he,  pcrhap-.  had  no  certain  consciou-ne-s  ;  luit  he, 
soon  made  it  apparent  to  hi-  wife  that  his  mind  was  unsettled,  lie 
called  her  up.  Bfl  «>,>n  a<  Dor.  '  said:  — 

"  When  .M'Kewn  conic-  ln-re  to-night,  you  must  cl'ar  out  with  the 
children.  You  kin  hev  a  tire  made  up  in  tin-  woods,  and  keep  warm 

while  we're  talking  together.     We'v<      •'  a  long  talk  to  do  together. 

We've  got  a  heap  of  busine«.  I'm  a  guine  to  l>uy  a  farm  fe.r  !  ' 
and  you  and  the  children  can  live  with  her  when  she's  niurried. 
I'm  guine  to  buy  her  some  ni-gers,  and  fix  her  up  handsome  in  the 
world.  She  shan't  be  a  beggar  child  my  longer.  You  hear  to  that, 
and  ef  you  takes  the  righ4  care  of  her  it'll  be  all  the  better  for  you. 
Do  you  hour  to  that?  Give  me  some  water  to  drink.  I'm  consuming 
tlmirsty." 

She  gave  him  the  water.  lie  drank,  and  rose  from  the  bed.  but 
staggered  from  wakness.  The  wife  urged  him  to  lie  down  again. 
but  he  replied  sharply  —  • 


THE   SQUATTER    IX    HIS   CABIN.  479 

"Git  out,  and  don't  meddle  whar  you  don't  owclerstand.  Go 
along  now,  and  put  yourself  on  the  road  leading  to  the  pinelancb,  and 
see  ef  that's  nobody  about,  and  come  and  tell  me  quick." 

She  did  so,  and  during  her  absence  he  proceeded  to  dress  himself, 
which  he  did  with  evident  effort.  lie  was  feeble,  had  taken  little  or 
no  nourishment,  and  was  sustained  only  by  the  excitement  of  fever, 
and  a  will  that  would  not  suffer  him  to  admit,  even  to  himself,  the 
extent  of  his  sufferings.  By  the  time  that  he  had  finished  dressing 
himself,  his  wife  returned.  The  road  was  clear  ;  there  was  nobody 
to  be  seen.  He  prepared  to  go  forth. 

"  You're  not  going  out  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  What's  it  to  you  ef  I  am  ?    Mind  your  own  business." 

He  disappeared,  and  was  absent  a  full  hour.  When  he  returned, 
he  brought  with  him,  wrapped  up  in  the  folds  of  his  cloak, 
the  box  of  Mrs.  Eveleigh,  containing  the  papers  and  the  stolen 
treasure,  with  the  hundred  guineas  additional  he  had  received 
from  M'Kewn.  The  wife  saw  that  he  carried  something  with 
him,  but  she  was  not  permitted  to  know  what,  He  concealed  it 
beneath  the  bed  clothes  where  he  lay,  sinking  upon  the  couch  in 
utter  exhaustion  as  he  did  so.  The  day  passed.  In  due  season  Dory 
returned,  bringing  a  message  from  M'Kewn,  who  promised  to  come 
as  required ! 

"Good!"  said  the  squatter,  languidly  smiling  upon  the  child. 
"  You're  a  beauty  of  the  forest,  Dory,  and  I  love  you,  and  you 
shill  hev  a  farm  of  your  own,  Dory,  and  niggers  to  work  for  you, 
and  a  nice  little  waiting-maid  servant  of  your  own  —  all  of  your 
own." 

' '  Thank  ye,  father  ;  and  father,  I  want  you  to  let  me  read  to  y*u 
now,  out  of  this  book." 

' '  The  Bible  !  no,  none  of  that  now  ;  for  I've  got  dealings  with 
the  devil  to-night,  or  one  that's  a  born  brother  of  the  devil,  and 
I  don 't  want  any  good  lessons  when  I've  got  to  deal  with  such  sort 
of  persons.  Shct  it  up,  Dory,  and  jest  you  sit  ~by  me  now,  and  sing 
for  me  some  soft  sweet  little  bit  of  a  song.  But,  first,  give  me 
some  water." 

"Father,  oughtn't  you  to  take  physic  ?  " 

"  Well,  ef  I  know'd  what  physic  to  take,  Dory  ;  but  I  don't." 

"  There's  a  Doctor 

"Jest  stop,   now,   and  don't  you  tell  me  of  doctors  now.     I 


480  Woo  I»(  KAIT. 

hev'nt  got  money  to  give  to  doctors.     I'll  want   all  to  buy  your  farm 
and  niggers." 

"Oh!  don't  mind  that,  father,  but  -end  for  Doctor  — 

"Slu-l     up!     You  don't    know    what   you're    a    saying.      I    must 
mind  that.     I've  got   nothing  el-e  but  that  to  mind.     I'm   ftguil 
make  you  a  lady.  Dory.  BO  that  you  shill  be  able  to  marry  a  line 
gentleman  some  day." 

'•  lint,  father—" 
'  Shd  up.  and  je>t  sing,  that's  all." 

Tin-    child    obeyed,  and   -hr  -amr  for    him    a  well-known 

dittv.    He  shut  iii-  eyes,  and   -<•<  med  to  Dumber:  and  someti 

watching    him.  sometin;.  tO  him.    and  answeriiu 

for  water,  the  day  sped  away,  .-.lid  the  still  watches  of  the  night  - 

on.      As    the   wife    lighted   her  dipped    candle-  in    th«-    <  hamber,  1  he 

S(juatter  started  up. 

••  It's  ni-rht.  and  that  devil  M  KewiT-  Q 

"It's  just  dark,  father:  1  reckon  he'll  In-  h- 

AS  she  Spoke,  the  hoofs    of  I  I'd. 

"That's  him.  I    kn.  .  tin- squatter.      "  Ami  now."  he  con 

tinued,  addiv— im-   hi-   wife,  "do    you  cl'ar  out.  as    I    told   you 
take    Dory    and    the  children   with  you,   ami    make  up  a  tire  in    tin- 
woods,  and   don't    be   poking  about  hereto  li-ten.  far   when  a   man's 
got  to  talk    with  the  devil  and  his  an-el-.  he  don't  want  eny  body  to 
hear  the  bargain  he  niak- 

In    a    few   minutes    M'Kewn   tapped  at    the   door,    was    admitted, 
and  the  wife,  with    her    children   disappeared.     The   door  wa^   - 
fully    fa-tencil,  and    the  two   criminal-,    ooll 
alt^ie  together. 


THE   SKRIMMAGK    AT    GLFX-EIJEULEY,  481 


CHATTER    LXII. 

1HK  SKRIMMAGS   AT   GLEN-EBERLEY,  AND  HOV\    IT  BI%J>£?> 

FROM  tlie  cabin  of  the  squatter  to  the  mansion  of  the 
in,  with  us  now,  as  it  frequently  is  in  fact,  only  a  stone's  tnro\> , 
Let  us  pass  from  one  to  the  other.  The  bolt  has  descenr  ,d 
Captain  Porgy  is  in  tribulation.  The  sheriff,  with  the  posse 
comitatm,  is  at  Glen-Eberley.  There  is  great  confusion  in  the 
garrison.  It  is  a  garrison,  however,  well  defended.  The  doors 
«ire  all  barred  and  bolted.  From  the  upper  windows,  Sergeant 
Millhouse  and  Tom,  the  cook,  are  keeping  watch,  armed  to  the 
teeth.  The  captain  is  moving  from  chamber  to  chamber,  breath 
ing  defiance.  There  is  warrant  out  for  his  arrest.  He  swears 
that  his  person  shall  never  be  dishonored  by  the  touch  of  the 
sheriff.  Meanwhile,  that  officer,  with  his  myrmidons,  has  envi 
roned  the  dwelling.  They  have  failed  to  capture  the  negroes, 
who  are  all  off.  Tom,  and  that  antique  mother  of  many  "  gine- 
rations,"  old  Sappho,  only  excepted.  Apprized  of  the  approach 
of  the  enemy,  Lance  Frampton  was  deputed  by  Millhouse  to 
take  charge  of  the  negroes,  and  house  them  in  the  swamp.  This 
duty  done,  he  was  to  act  as  a  scouting  party,  making  proper  efforts 
lo  relieve  the  garrison,  by  throwing  in  provisions,  whenever  op 
portunity  should  offer. 

The  sheriff,  meanwhile,  sustained  by  Crooks,  the  much-suffer 
ing  deputy,  who  tenaciously  sought  his  own  revenge,  with  some 
half  dozen  auxiliary  bull-dogs  of  the  courts,  was  yet  bewildered 
with  the  difficulties  of  his  situation;  provoked  by  the  perverse 
and  utterly  useless  obstinacy  of  Porgy,  yet  half-laughing  at  the. 
military  resolve  to  convert  his  house  into  a  castle  at  a  period 
when  the  mailed  coat  of  the  soldier  was  in  duty  bound  to  give 
place  to  the  gown  of  the  civilian.  The  sheriff's  natura1  good 
humor  and  love  of  good  fellowship,  were  in  conflict  witn  his 
official  dignities  and  duties.  And,  now,  under  the  trees  in  the 

2 


432  WOODCRAFT. 

avenue,  he  sat  in  consultation   wiih  -.     They  did  i.ot 

dare  to  venture  within  n  hundred  yards.  They  hnd  already  tri<-d 
the  defences  and  were  warned  oil';  sullen  linking  nile-nm/xleff 
I  'Otruding  from  portholes  cut  in  tlie  shuttered  windows,  and 
pistols  swaying  out  significantly  through  hroken  panes  of  glass  iii 
the  upper  story. 

While   thus  tliey  sat,  in   front  of  the  strong  and  well-manned 
garrison  which   they  had    summoned    in  vain   to  Mirremier. 
threateiied   l>y   unexpected   dangers  in   the    rear.       1 
.Frampton,  having    securely   ln'U>ed    the    fugitive    neg. 
making  tin-  circuit  of  the  plantation,  when  hi-  hrheld  tv.  •• 
looking  persons   approaching.      One  was  an  81  tall  man, 

(thing  Over  lii'tv.  lean,  lank,  long;    of  dry,  withered  a>; 
simple!   as  skinny  OJ  ,  hut  with  something  in    hi-  lace  that 

pronounced  him  a  character.  His  companion  was  altng.-ther  a 
different  person,  of  middle  >i/e,  well  huilt  without  1  if,  of 

a  full,  frank,  fair  countenance,  line  complexion,  light  liluc  oyt 
which  twinkled  merrily  when  he  spoke,  and  a  joyous  laugh,  likt 
the  ringing  of  a  hird  note,  that  you  could  hear  a  mile  off.  1!  th 
of  them  carried  rifles,  and,  with  their  arms,  equipments  and  dress, 
were  altogether  just  such  persons  in  appearance  ;i-  v,  ei  e  ( 'aptain 
y  and  his  c-omrad-  heheld  them  when,  homeward 

hound,  they  first  left  the  camp  of  Marion. 

Jt  was  Frampton's  present  duty  to  overhaul  these  stran.. 
Thev  might  l>e  additional  forces  of  tin-  shcritl  whom  In- 
In -und  to  cut  off.  He  resumed  all  the  .strategic  practice  thai  he 
had  acquired  in  the  war;  tied  his  horse,  in  the  woods  and  stole 
ui.der  cover  toward  the  strangers,  who  were  hoth  on  foot.  One 
nf  them,  l.y  the,  way,  the  tall  man,  carried  an  enormous  sack 
upon  his  shoulders,  which  stuck  out  in  every  direction;  the  othe: 
horn,  a  little  wallet,  of  leather,  which  hung  out  upon  the  end  of 
Ms  rifle.  When  they  approached  sufficiently  nigh,  Framptoi 
leaped  out  with  a  joyful  cry  to  meet  them.  He  knew  them  at  .'. 
rlance. 

"What,  George?"  he  cried,  to  the  younger  of  the  two, — "I? 
t  you?''  and,  "Doctor,  I  am  really  glad  to  see  you." 

The  parties  have  heen,  more  than  once,  Mihjccts  of  remark  in 
onr  larrative.  They  were  old  followers  of  Porgy;  —  the  one 
Doctor  Oakenbivg,  a  culler  of  simples  and  catcher  of 


THE   SKRIMMAGE   AT   GLEX-EBEllLEY.  483 

both  of  which  his  sack  was  now  full ;  tumbled  in,  in  old  confusion, 
with  shirts  and  breeches,  and  other  body-gear; — the  other  was  no 
less  a  person  than  George  Dennison,  the  poet  of  the  partisans,  of 
whom  Porgy  had  been  always  very  fond,  and  whom  he  was  required 
to  defend  very  frequently  against  the  utilitarian  philosophies  of 
Millhouse.  The  meeting  on  both  sides  was  very  joyous :  the 
welcome  of  Frampton  was  delivered  in  earnest.  These  were 
auxiliaries,  allies,  whom  he  took  for  granted,  would  readily  side 
with  him  against  the  sheriff.  Upon  Dennison  he  could  put  reli 
ance.  Oakeuburg  was  one  who  had  no  relish  for  danger ;  and 
now,  when  told  of  the  predicament  in  which  Porgy  stood,  and 
asked  if  he  would  not  cooperate  for  his  relief,  he  avowed  his 
readiness  to  do  so  only  on  condition  that  he  was  required  to  "act 
in  a  situation  which  should  be  one  of  perfect  security."  The 
phrase  was  one  to  which  all  his  associates  had  been  accustomed 
for  years  ;  and  yet,  though  stipulating  thus  always,  he  had  gone 
through  several  campaigns  without  absolutely  skulking  from  any 
fight.  His  professional  role  was  something  of  a  protection,  it  is 
true ;  but  it  was  notorious  that  a  patient  was  never  in  more  danger 
than  when  Oakenburg  promised  to  save  him.  Dennison  was  de 
lighted  with  the  notions  of  circumventing  the  sheriff,  and  readily 
fell  into  all  the  plans  which  Lance  presented.  His  scheme  was 
suddenly  to  fall  upon  the  party  of  the  sheriff  in  the  rear,  and 
by  giving  a  proper  signal  to  the  garrison,  effect  a  simultaneous 
movement,  by  which  the  two  parties,  pushing  forward  at  the  same 
moment  might  utterly  surprise  and  capture  the  myrmidons  of 
the  law  together,  at  one  single  swoop.  It  was  calculated  that  a 
mere  demonstration  from  front  and  rear,  at  the  same  moment, 
would  enable  them  to  succeed  in  their  object  without  shedding  a 
drop  of  blood.  Our  partisans,  it  will  be  seem  from  this,  had  but 
very  little  notion  of  the  valor  of  those  who  had  served  only  in  the 
chambers  of  the  law. 

Franiptou's  plans  were  soon  completed.  His  companions  were 
both  armed,  as  we  have  said.  They  submitted  to  his  directions. 
He  brought  them  down,  under  cover  all  the  way,  until  they  lay 
perdu,  each  with  the  bead  of  his  rifle  prepared  to  tell  upon  an 
enemy's  button.  To  establish  a  communication  with  the  garrison 
was  the  next  object.  To  effect  this  —  having  given  Dennison  full 
instructions  as  to  what  he  and  Oakenburg  should  do,  and  at  what 


484  WOODCRAFT. 

moment  —  Frampton     stole    away,    and    they  of     him 

for    half   on    hour.       In    this    time,    he    made    hi*    way.    un-eeii    by 
those   witliout    to  the  dwelling,    and    by  signals    previous, 
upon    with     Millhouse,    found    admittance.     Hi-   M-heine    was   duly 
reported,    rapidly    considered,    an;  resolved    upon.      I' 

wa<   now    in    such  f    excitement    that  r    stopped 

ID   reason    u])ou   any  portion    of   the    alTair    l»ut    the    probability    of 
\n   enterprise  of   this  nature   carried    him   back   to  the 
familiar  stimulant-  .1   rxcitin.  lie   thought   of    the 

-inlic.    its    b.-autic-.  .    '  illy,    the    slioiit.    the 

triumph; —  never  •  .  ;ir    i.\\\  :    the  sacred   character   of    the 

sheritV  —  the  awful   powers  of  the  courts;  the  state  and   It 

dignil 

Framplon     had    now     d!  i,     and    the    Lrarrisi>n     1" 

arms.  I'oi-y  appeared  in  the  hall  in  full  armor;  Mill  house  was 
there,  with  his  *.:i|,re  \vavini:  in  air;  Tom  carried  a  sabre  also; 
a  ril'.e  was  slumr  upon  his  ^boulder,  as  upon  hi-  and 

there    wen    pbtoll    in    every.  '.        \Ve  D»M    n-' 

mention   one    fact,    lio\ve\cr,   that,  wild  «.ur  captain  of   par- 

lisans,    he   look    spe<  ial    «  are   that    none   "f    the  -iioiild    be 

(hailed  with  ball.  (Jood  hea\ y  char.ires  of  powder,  well  wadded, 
IhnM  into  the  iruns  and  pistols;  but  imthin.tr  niore  heavy. 
Our  captain's  aim  \\as  to  surprise,  lo  >care,  and  to  captu:- 
di-|H'i--e  his  enemy.  lie  made  Lame  Framjtton  and  .Millhoiise 
understand  this  matter  clearly  ;  and  was  particularly  heedful 
thai  they  should  B66,  that,  however  \\iliim:  t«  violate  the  laws 
in  >oine  ;  :u-  was  yet  scrupulous  that  no  blood  shoui 

shed. 

\\Y  are  not  pn-pan-d  to  say  that  lie  felt  no  anxieties  on  this 
head,  since  any  encounter  of  the  sort  mu>t  necessarily,  even  with 
the  best  purposes  of  forbearance,  on  the  .-ide  of  one  of  the  par 
ties,  be  of  doubtful  accidents;  but,  in  truth,  hi.s  o\\  n  excited 
temper  did  not  siill'i-r  him  very  profoundly  to  meditate  the 
sibilities  of  the  experiment.  The  watch  above  siair.s.  meanwhile, 
duly  reported  progress.  Signals  were  momently  expected,  and 
our  garrison  stole  down  the  inner  stairs  to  the  basement,  prepared 
to  rush  from  under  the  porch  upon  the  sheriffs  party,  as  soon 
as  Frampton  could  be  heard  from.  He.  meanwhile,  made  his 
way  to  his  new  allies,  Dennison  and  Oakenlmrg.  The  better 


THE    3KRIMMAGE    AT   GLEN-EBERLEY.  485 

to  encourage  the  latter  to  audacity,  the  lieutenant  described  the 
iffair  as  a  furious  jest  only.  The  withdrawal  of  the  bullets  from 
all  their  weapons  seemed  to  confirm  this. 

"  But,"  says  the  lieutenant — "  you  must  look  as  if  in  earnest 
and  behave  just  as  if  it  was  all  real  and  serious  fighting.  That's 
the  only  way  to  scare  off  these  fellows.  They  ain't  used  to 
fighting,  and  a  few  random  shots,  and  a  good  big  shouting,  will 
be  pretty  sure  to  do  their  business,  particularly  when  they  see 
us,  on  one  side,  and  the  captain  and  his  men  on  t'other,  rushing 
on  like  mad,  and  flourishing  pistols  and  broadswords.  That's 
all  we  shall  have  to  do." 

Dennison  was  eager  for  the  fun,  and,  now  that  it  seemed  so 
innocent,  Oakenburg  was  not  unready.  Quietly,  the  three  stole 
toward  the  sheriff's  party,  in  silence  the  most  profound,  as  long 
as  they  could  possibly  approach  without  discovery.  Frampton 
on  this  progress,  had  separated  from  the  two.  and  taken  another 
direction,  which  enabled  him  to  act  between  the  several  parties, 
He  was  to  give  the  signal,  discharging  a  pistol,  and  rushing  into 
sight,  though  at  a  greater  distance  from  the  enemy  than  either 
of  the  other  parties.  This,  after  a  little  interval,  he  did. 

His  pistol-shot,  his  fierce  halloo,  and  his  rush,  from  out  the 
covert,  was  followed  in  a  few  seconds  by  a  terrible  uproar  from 
the  court  of  the  dwelling ;  and,  directly  after,  from  Dennison 
and  his  companion  :  Oakenburg  had  famous  lungs,  if  his  courage 
was  wanting  in  firmness.  He  could  roar  like  an  alligator,  and 
his  bellowings  shook  the  wood.  The  sheriff  and  his  party  were 
at  once  on  their  feet.  They  were  environed  with  dangers. 
They  knew  not  which  way  to  turn.  Their  consternation  was 
evident  at  a  glance.  The  sheriff  was  firm,  but  surprised ;  his 
immediate  ally,  Crooks,  whose  own  revenges  were  ever  upper 
most  in  his  mind,  was  ready  for  battle,  so  far  as  appetite  was 
concerned ;  but  he  was  divided  between  three  fires.  The 
one  great  bully,  whom  they  had  brought  with  them,  and  who 
had  never  in  his  life  shrunk  from  fist  or  bludgeon,  now  showed 
a  veiy  different  spirit,  when  pistols  and  rifles  were  introduced 
into  the  discussion.  He  had  a  very  wholesome  reluctance  to  an 
atmosphere  about  to  be  impregnated  with  gunpowder.  At  the 
very  first  shout  and  shot  (which  came  together)  he  started  off 
at  a  run,  and  was  knocked  down  by  the  furious  Crooks,  as  he 


486  WOODCRAFT. 

was  making  off.     He  scarcely  stirred  again  until  the  affair  \\at 
over — until  the  firing  had  fairly  erased. 

Meanwhile,  the  several  parties  performed  their  separate  duties 
with  admirable  concert.  On  a  sudden,  the  corpulent  might  of 
Captain  Porgy,  like  a  young  buffalo,  might  he  seen  emerging 
from  the  cover  of  his  pia//a.  lie  came  forward,  swelling  and 
splurging  —  to  employ  the  phrase  l.y  which  Millhouse  frequently 
described  his  assault  afterward  —  his  eyes  glaring  like  in< •'• 
his  voici'  yelling  a  terrific  slogan  ;  his  broadsword  waving  like 
the  broad  tail  of  a  fiery  comet,  at  the  advent  of  an  earthquake 
Porgy  could  not  exactly  rush  or  run.  but  he  could  roll  forward 
with  wonderful  effect,  and  his  lungs  \veiv  good.  His  strength 
was  great  when  lie  once  set  hands  upon  his  victim.  He  looked 
in  terrible  earnest  as  he  came.  AViiile  bis  right  grasped  the 
brOad-SWOrd,  his  left  carried  a  pistol.  As  he  advanced,  be  fired 
with  deliberate  aim  at  the  enemy,  then  dropping  the  one  \ 
drew  another,  still  advanced,  still  took  deadly  aim,  fired  and 
hurried  onward  with  a  shout. 

Millhouse  did  likewise.  So  Frampton  from  bis  quarter 
Dcnnison  and  Oakenburg  from  theirs;  so  Tom,  the  cook,  follow 
ing  close  in  the  wake  of  his  master;  and  finally,  so  Sappho,  the 
ancient,  \\hn.se  screams  from  toothless  ja\\  s  were  absolutely  most 
awful  of  all  to  hear.  Can  you  wonder  at  the  result.  Can  you 
doubt  that  the  sheriff's  party  uas  discomfited,  even  before  a 
blow  was  struck.  His  men  fled  incontinently  from  the  field,  all 
but  Crooks,  who  stood  bravely  beside  his  chief,  with  bludgeon 
in  hand,  and  looked  the  danger  in  the  face  with  tolerable  core- 
posture. 

The  sheriff  drew  his  small-sword  with  the  air  of  a  nobleman 
in  a  conflict  with  a  crowd  of  canaille,  who  sees  that  he  must  per 
ish,  and  takes  the  proper  attitude  at  once  to  die  with  grace  and 
dignity,  and  do  something  u-ickc.l  while  falling.  But  he  was 
allowed  no  chance.  Half  a  dozen  pistols  flashed  pretty  near  hia 
face  and  that  of  Cvooks,  utterly  blinding  them.  They  both  con 
cluded  themselves  slain,  tiough  doubtful  at  the  moment  where 
to  locate  their  hurts ;  and  while  the  sheriff,  with  the  despair  of 
a  dying  man,  darted  forward  and  thrust  out  his  sword  in  the 
direction  of  Porgy 's  abdominal  demonstration,  Tom,  the  cook, 
ruihed  upon  him  from  behind,  dexterously  dived  between  his 


THE   SKRIMMAGE   AT   GLEN-EBERLEY.  487 

parted  legs,  lifted  him  fairly  from  the  ground,  and,  while  his 
sword  furiously  but  fruitlessly  slashed  away  in  air,  hurried  him 
off  to  the  house  a  prisoner. 

Crooks  was  captured  —  nay,  ridden  do  -'->. — by  Oakeriburg 
who,  with  immensely  long  legs,  seeing  a  terrier-like  little 
man  before  him,  with  his  back  turned,  deliberately  cast  his  leg 
over  his  shoulder,  curled  the  limb  completely  about  his  neck, 
and  thus  brought  him  down  to  earth ;  when  Millhouse  took  hiiij 
Into  keeping,  by  leisurely  letting  himself  down  upon  the  cap 
tive,  whose  bristles  of  chin  and  cheek  he  curiously  examined : 
feeling  tbo.m  with  his  one  hand,  while  commenting  upon  the 
wonderful  rapidity  with  which  red  or  copper-colored  beard-1 
shoot  out.  Crooks  struggled  fiercely,  but  it  required  the  slight 
est  effort  in  the  world  on  the  part  of  the  sergeant,  to  suffer  his 
ringers  to  slip  from  the  chin  to  the  throat  of  his  captive.  A 
gripe  of  the  weasand,  by  such  steely  prongs  as  Millhouse  wore 
by  way  of  fingers,  soon  subdued  all  the  bristles  of  the  deputy, 
whether  of  wrath  or  whisker. 

While  this  was  going  on,  Porgy  was  engaged  in  rescuing  the 
sheriff  from  Tom's  clutches;  a  not  easy  matter.  Our  excellent 
cook,  assuming  that  he  should  certainly  be  permitted  to  strip,  if 
not  to  slay  his  prisoner,  —  as  had  been  his  custom  in  battle, — 
was  not  willing  to  deliver  the  captive  until  his  master  promised 
to  account  to  him  for  his  garments;  when  he  suffered  the  dis 
comfited  sheriff  to  feel  the  solid  earth  once  more.  Porgy  came 
up  and  clapped  the  knight  of  the  shire  upon  his  shoulder  — 

"Shall  there  be  peace  between  us,  colonel?" 

"Peace!  —  Captain  Porgy,  you  have  dishonored  me!  You 
have  still  your  sword  in  hand,  and  I  have  mine.  I  appeal  to 
your  sense  of  honor,  that  we  cross  blades." 

'•  Pooh  !  pooh !  my  dear  fellow,  there's  no  need  of  that.  lo» 
are  already  conquered ;  don't  you  see." 

"  You  will  pay  dreadfully  for  this !  You  have  killed  seveia* 
of  my  people." 

"  Not  a  man  of  them,  unless  the  scare  shall  have  done  so.  For 
look  you,  my  dear  colonel,  we  went  into  the  figbt  with  powdei 
only.  Not  a  pistol  or  gun  was  shotted  !" 

This  made  tl'fj  sheriff  furious      He  cried— 


488  WOODCRAFT. 

"Bid  your  fellows  stand  oft',  while  we  fight.  There  is  no  sham 
in  steel." 

"And  no  shame  to  yon,  my  dear  colonel,  in  heing  shot  at  with 
empty  pistols.  Pooh  f  pooh!  man,  can't  y<»u  relish  a  good  anny- 
j">kc,  now  that  you're  .1  peace  officer.  Put  up  ymr  sword,  and 
let  us  all  in  and  have  a  stonp  of  .Jamaica  1  am  in  a  lather  of 
perspiration." 

T.iit  the  sheriff  was  not  K)  easily  appea.-ed.  and  the  dispute 
went  on,  and,  in  spite  •  ;  -d  humor — which,  now  that 

lie  had  gained  the  victory  and  enjoyed  his  jest  —  was  of  the  m«Ht 
Denial  description,  there  is  no  saying  what  might  have  lieen  the 
upshot  of  the  business;  when  suddenly  tin-  tread  of  horses,  and 
the  wheels  of  a  carriage,  u  ere  heard  rumMing  t'»ward  them. 
And  soon  the  cunihnMis  vehicle  drew  nigh,  drawn,  as  was  fre 
quently  the.  fashion  in  th-  hy  four  horses.  Then  a 
voice,  well  known  to  both  of  the.  parties,  cried  out  from  the 
carriage  — 

"Halloo!      There!      My  hra\  e    bellows,  what    have   you  lieen 

About!" 

The  new-comer  was  the  gallant  and  highly  popular  ( -hailes 
-worth  Pincknev— a   man,  who,  hut  lor  the  riir.-.i;  of   prirty 
would   have  heen  subsequently  made  president    of    the    Tinted 
States. 

"Ha!  my  dear  Pinckney,"  answered  I 'orgy,  "you  have  come 
in  the  nick  of  time  to  keep  the  peace.  I  have  won  a  victory,  hut 
because  1  have  heen  merciful,  I  can  not  quiet  those,  whom  I  shoulc 
have  slain." 

I'inckncy  got  out  of  the  Carnage, Stepped   i>. 'tween  the  pa. -Ins 
and  heard  the  story.     He  had  sped,  hy  the  way,  with  all  ha-t.i 
after  the  sheriiV,  to  prevent   difficulties.     The   latter,  goaded    hy 
M'Kewn,  and  somewhat  mortified  hy  the 

his  expense,  touching  his  former  fortune  —  stories  Vfjy  much 
exaggerated  —  had  evaded  the  friends  of  I'oig^  and  - 
his  arrest,  and  to  effect  the  le'ry,  wiiho.it  their  knowledge.  .U 
soon,  however,  as  the  fact  was  known,  Pinckney  started  in  pur 
suit,  lie  came  too  late;  and  the.  difficulties  of  his  mission  were 
increased.  But  he  was  not  the  person  to  despair.  He  had 
that  twofold  capacity,  at  once  of  persuasion  aid  command, 
which  rarely  suffered  him  lo  fail  in  influencing  the  minds  of  me./ 


THE  8KRIMMAGE  AT  GLEN-EBERLEY.        489 

••  What,  colonel,"  lie.  said  to  the  sheriff, — "angry  still,  after 
a'li.-it  you  hear.  This  must,  not  be.  We  must  reconcile  you  to 
our  friend,  who,  as  we  all  kiiDw,  will  have  his  jest  though  lie  dies 
for  it." 

"Not  at  my  expense — at  least." 

"Surely  not,"  said  Pinckney,  "and  he  will  atone  for  every 
inirt  of  honor  that  he  has  inflicted.  T  promise  you  this,  my  dear 
follow,  on  my  honor ;  and  now  le.  "s  into  his  dwelling,  and  ue^ 
with  what  sort  of  hospitality  he  will  receive  us." 

"In  with  you  all, —  good  friends,  all!"  cried  Porgy ,  "and  if 
nothing  short  of  Glen-Eberley  will  suffice  to  satisfy  you,  Mr. 
Sheriff,  why,  it  is  at  your  service.  There's  my  hand  on  it, — 
and  now  in  !" 

The  sheriff  was  somewhat  reluctant  still ;  but  Porgy  seized 
lus  hand  and  shook  it  with  vehemence,  and  Pinckney  repeated 
his  assurance  that  every  atonement  should  he  made.  The  knight 
of  the  shire  was  forced  to  yield.  Crooks,  the  deputy,  now  re 
lieved  from  the  incumbent  weight  of  Millhouse's  body,  was  not 
so  easily  pacified, —  but,  when  Pinckney  becoming  impatient, 
told  the  sergeant  to  resume  his  captive,  and  the  seat  which  he 
had  occupied  with  such  effect,  the  little  fellow  cooled  off,  ano 
followed  the  rest  into  the  house.  Here,  for  the  first  time,  Porgy 
was  enabled  to  welcome  his  old  associates,  George  Dennison 
and  Oakenburg,  which  he  did  with  a  hearty  satisfaction  that 
|uite  disturbed  the  sergeant.  Il<?  muttered  sotto  voce: — 

"  Lord  ha'  marcy !  now  they're  here,  they'll  stick,  and  nara 
jne  of  'em  able  to  airn  the  salt  to  his  hominy !" 

Let  us  suppose  the  efforts  of  Pinckney  to  be  successful  in  re 
conciling  the  conflicting  parties,  and  persuading  the  sheriff  to  re 
ceive  the  apologies  of  Porgy,  for  all  that  had  been  personally  of 
fensive  between  them;  apologies  which  Porgy  gave  without  a 
moment's  scruple.  But  Crooks  was  to  be  hushed  with  other 
coin.  His  hurts  of  honor  were  to  be  settled  by  some  regard  to 
his  pocket;  and,  after  a  little  w!  He,  an  exact  estimate  was  made, 
in  money,  of  the  amount  of  injury  done  to  his  self-esteem  anu 
honor.  These  affairs  once  adjusted,  the  question  next  was  con 
fined  wholly  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  judgment  in  the  case  of 
M'Kewn  v.  Porgy  —  a  matter  of  move  difficult  arrangement 
We  will  leave  the  three  prominent  persons,  Pinckreyv  the  sher'ft 

$1* 


490  woo  nn:  A  FT. 

ana  Porgy,  engaged  in  this  <li.srus.sion,  in  the  parlor,  aft*-,-  snp 
pei  was  over;  while  Sergeant  Millhouie.  well  Vdpptted  with 
pipes  and  Jamaica,  did  tlie  honors  In-low  stairs  t<>  the  other  guests 
Framplon  had  suddenly  disappeared  after  the  "skrimmage  '' 
He  excused  himself  «>idy  to  (Jeorge  DennUo»s  and  to  no  other 
parties  did  his  ahsenee  occasion  any  surprisr.  It  was  probably 
two  Imurs  after  nightfall  when  he  reappea1  ed,  and,  suddenly 
making  his  wav  into  the  parlor  where  the  'Jiree  prineipal  pei- 
sons  were  yrt  engaged  in  the  diseussirn,  he  called  Porgy  out  to 
the,  piaxxa,  and  said. — 

"Beg  pardon,  eaptiiri,  f"r  troubling  yn.  ju.-'t  now,  hu*  y..u  see 
the  matter  is  importair.  There's  the  squ  itter,  l'.o>M\  ick,  he's 
got  back  to  his  famil)  .  l*omp  saw  him  in  (he  swamp,  and  when 
Id  i:ie,  I  put  Pomp  ami  another  t--i  watch  the  squatter's 
house,  They  saw  little  Dory  go  out,  and  one  of  them  watched 
'e-r  all  «he  way  <o  M'Ke\\n'>;  and  to-night,  a  little  after  dark, 
M'Kewn  went  in  to  the  squatter's  cahin.  He's  with  him  now, 
and  they  1-oth  may  he  caught  together.  I'm  a  thinking  that  if 
you  was  to  ->•}•/.('  upon  the  squatter,  right  away,  and  give  him  a 
gOOd  scare,  with  the  pipe  or  the  hiekories,  you  would  get  hack 

that  mahogany  box  of  the  widow  Eveleigh,  and  find  out  allahout 
your  missing  property,  and  the  attack  on  the  widow.'' 

Lance  Frampton  was  a  brief,  comprehensive  speaker.  He 
hardly  employed  more  words  than  these  in  making  this  re\ -elation. 
Porgy  felt  its  vast  importance,  and  rightly  estimated  the  utility 
of  prompt  proceedings.  He,  at  once,  took  Lance  into  the  pai 
lor  and  communicated  his  intelligence  to  his  associates.  Pinck- 
ney  was  at  once  upon  his  feet. 

"We  must  act  instanter.  The  squatter  must  be  seized;  but 
legally.  Here's  the  proper  officer.  I  can  take  your  lieutenant's 
affidavit  and  yours,  embodying  your  suspicions,  and  issue  the 
warrant?,  which  will  suffice  to  get  one  or  both  these  parties  into 
custody  —  the  rest  may  follow;  but  rope  or  hickory,  unless  by 
the  proper  hands,  mot  not  be  thought  of.  Call  your  deputies, 
—  a  couple  of  them,  Mr.  Sheriff,  —  while  I  prepare  the  papers." 

Five  ninutes  sufficed  foi  this  .  The  parties,  Pinckney  at  their 
head,  prepared  to  set  forth  •  Porgy  was  about  to  accompany  them, 
bit  Pinckney  objected. 

Better  n'»t  you.  Porgy.     Your  entanglements  a*-*-  quite  suffi 


THE  BOX    OF   PAPERS.  4&1 

cient  already,  and  you'll  b(5  for  grappling  tnif  fellow  M'KewD 
on  the  spot,  and  pulling  his  n»>se,  or  doing  some  outrageous  thing. 
Besides,  your  debt  to  him  n  akes  your  appearance,  at  the  time 
of  his  answer  to  such  charges,  a  lather  delicate  proceeding." 

"  If  I  don't  go  with  you,  may  I  be !"  was  the  reply  of 

the  doughty  captain,  putting  his  pistols  in  l*is  belt. 

"  Obstinate  as  ever  !  But,  as  you  will.  How  far  is  it  ?  Do 
ire  ride!" 

"  The  horses  are  ready  now,  sir,''  >ras  the  reply  of  the  prom*/ 
lieutenant  —  "Better  ride  to  Cattle  B.r»\nch,  captain,  and  then  get 
down  and  walk." 

"Right,  Lance,  right!  we  must  taae  the  rascals  by  surprise. 
Gentlemen,  to  saddle." 


CHAPTER   LX1\ 

THK    BOX    OF    PAPERS,    Ar  D    HOW    PA  O    FOR. 

UNDER  the  guidance  of  Lance  1  rampton,  the  party  proceeded 
tr  the  Cattle  Branch.  Here,  they  alig'ited,  fastened  their  horses 
in  the  shelter  of  a  bit  of  wood,  and  went  forward  on  foot.  At 
tracted  by  the  gleam  of  fire  in  the  foresv  Lance  Frampton  stole 
away  to  see  by  what  it  was  occasioned,  and,  without  allowing 
hi'jnself  to  be  .seen,  he  found  the  wife  of  {he  squatter,  little  Dory, 
Mid  the  two  other  children,  cowering  about  the  blaze  of  a  fire 
which  they  had  kindled  about  two  hundred  yards  from  the  house 
of  the  squatter.  Here,  wrapped  in  blankets,  and  housing  tli em- 
selves  as  well  as  they  could  against  the  night  wind,  they  waited 
the  conclusion  of  the  conference  between  the  confederate^  in  the 
cabin.  — Having  ascertained,  scout-fashion,  all  the  necessary  par 
ticulars  in  the  case,  .Frampton  rejoined  his  party  and  made  his 
report.  They  went  forward,  stealthily,  toward  the  house,  and 
imitating  the  precautions  of  their  guide,  succeeded  in  approaching 
it  without  disturbing  the  inmates.  Through  chinks  between  the 
Irjp,  from  which  the  clay-plaster  ^ig  had  fallen  out,  an'l  \)y  the 
agLi  of  *  r^uple  of  tallow-candles  which  burnrvl  iu  tht1.  chamber 


WUOIM.K.UT. 

of  the  squatter.  they  could  sec  pretty  much  all  that  took  place  within. 
I'-ing  our  privile-e,  we  can  witne-  >  the  proceeding  on  ea>i<  T  l«-nn.-, 
and  are  aMc  to  report  them  from  tin-  beirinn; 

Once  in    thu    chamber,    the    family  shut    <  ut,   am?    -eemv. 
thoil-hl,  a/:iiii>t  surveillance,   M'Kewn  appr-iirhed  tile  bedside  of  the 
squatter,  who  raised  himself  up  in  the  bed  to  receive  him. 

'•  What's  mad'  bitor. 

"Sick!     <>'     J    aint    much    rick;    aint    too    >i,  k    to    do    btl 
Business   ah\.v  me    well    au'in.      Tin-    si-hi    of    tin-    g 

•i  coming   in,   i  ;re    for  m--,    no  matter  what's  Hi- 

of     ailment      a-troublini;     me.        Ilev'     you     brought     the     Lr"tild, 


"  P.ui  you  are  sick.  I'.-.-t  wick,  and   very  M  M  Kewn, 

g  the  fiery  eyes,  tin-  blotched  features,  and  feeling  the  burniirj 
hand  of  the  patient  .  "  V«>u  have  a  »  -ircliin^  fever,  and  look  ill  mil 
of  the  , 

'•<>!  don't    you    mind   about    the   eyes,       I    tell  \mi.  ef  they  once 
iineas.  and  a  -mart  chaince  of  -em,   they'll  Lfit  \\rll,  and  I'll 
.liit  well  directly.      He\  \\oii  lirmi.Lrht  them  Lruineas  ?   I  must  h<-v%  'CIM, 
and  a  .irn-at  count  ol  ^!'K^•\vn." 

•'Guineas:   Why.  man.  you  m-cd  phy>ir  now,  rather  than  uuineas. 

6  to  cure  this  fever." 

i!  Send  me  physic1  You!  Never!  I'll  ii"t  take  any  physic  of 
i/o  'i  r  mixini:,  M'Kewn.  You're  not  the  ope  that  I'll  app'int  to  bile 
my  uruel." 

"  \Vliy.  you  don't  think  I'd  poison  you.  do  you?" 

"That's  jest  \\hat  I'd  be  atVar'd  of,  M  \\<  -.\n.  YOU  see,  I  kno\\>, 
you,  and  you  knows  me.  and  I.  tell  you,  there's  only  one  sort  of 
physic  I'm  willinir  to  take  out  of  your  hands,  and  that's  ijmiJi)  physic, 
M'Kewn.  ////•'  you  brmi.irht  them  -uiii. 

"I  have!  There  are  a  hundred  iruineas  here,  in  this  bair:  but  I'll 
not  irivo  you  one  of  them.  P>ostwick.  until  I  see  ihat  box  of  pap 
until  I  get  it  delivered  into  my  own  hands." 

"  You  won't,  you  say?" 

"No!  I  will  not  !" 

"Then  you  don't  git  'em,  that's  all!"  and  the  sick  man  hustled 
the  pillow,  and  a  portion  of  the  bed-clothes  in  a  heap  beneath 
his  head,  with  an  appearance  of  care  which  did  not  escape  the 
observation  of  his  visitor.  "Look  you,  31'Kewii,"  continued  the 


THE   BOX    OF    PAPERS.  493 

squatter;  "you  don't  hev'  them  papers  onless  I  gets  five  hundred 
guineas." 

"Five  hundred  guineas!    Why,  you're  mad." 

"No  I  aint ;  I'm  only  sensible.  I'm  in  want  of  a  heap  of 
gould.  I'm  a-guine  to  buy  a  farm  and  seven  niggers  for  Dory. 
—  I'm  a-guine  to  set  her  up,  and  make  a  lady  of  her.  And  she 
shill  be  fine  ;  and  shill  hev'  fine  clothes,  silk  and  velvet :  and 
shill  hev'  niggars  to  work  for  her  in  the  cornfield,  and  a  inaid- 
sarvant  to  wait  upon  her,  and  help  her  put  on  her.  clothes ;  and 
you're  to  pay  for  all." 

"The  devil,  I  am!" 

"Yes!  The  devil  you  air!  and  bekaise  you  air  a  born  devil, 
and  bekaise,  jest  now,  I'm  your  master,  and  kin  make  you  work 
for  me,  I'll  make  my  child  a  lady  of  fortin'.  So  you'll  hev'  to 
fork  up  the  money,  and  do  it  han'some.  Ef  I  kain't  git  her 
settled,  han'some,  out  of  my  airnings,  I'd  like  to  know  what's 
the  use  of  all  my  rapscalitics.  Five  hundred  guineas  is  little 
enough  to  aix  you  ;  that  is,  after  the  hundred  guineas  you've  got 
in  the  bag. —  Them  you  must  leave  with  me,  and  go  and  get  jest 
five  hundred  more,  and  when  I  sees  them  counted  out,  fair  be 
fore  me,  ten  piles  and  fifty  in  every  one  on  them,  then  you  shill 
hev'  the  box  of  papers  ;  and  not  a  minute  before." 

And  hear  the  squatter  grasped  the  heap  beneath  his  pillow, 
with  the  air  of  a  man  making  sure  of  his  possessions.  The  keen 
eye  of  M'Kewn  again  observed  the  action,  and  his  mind  drew 
instantly  the  proper  inference  from  it.  He  observed,  also,  that 
the  excitement  of  the  squatter  was  increasing.  His  eyes,  now 
more  accustomed  to  the  degree  of  light  in  the  chamber,  M'Kewn 
was  enabled  to  see  that  Bostwick  was  really  much  more  an  in 
valid  than  he  had  thought  him  at  first ;  though,  even  the  first 
glance  had  shown  him  that  the  man  was  very  ill.  He  now  be 
gan  to  suspect  that  his  mind  was  wandering.  This  conjecture 
was  reached,  not  so  much  because  of  the  extravagance  of  his 
demands,  as  from  the  wild  and  glittering  terror  of  his  eyes 
which  were  dilating,  as  if  about  to  burst  out  of  their  sockets 
and  shone  like  coals  of  "fire  ;  from  the  fitf'ulness  of  his  voice, 
and  the  spasmodic  action  which  accompanied  his  utterance.  To 
temporize  with  such  a  patient  was  his  present  policy. 


494  WOOIM  KAIT. 

"Well,  but  Bostwick,  you  surely  eaii't  expert  me  to  pay  this 
mouey  until  I  see  the  box  of  paper.-. " 

"It's  that  very  thing  you  hev'  to  <!<>'  You  hev'  to  trust  me 
to  the  et  nd  of  the  bu>ines>.  I  /•//'•T.V  what  I've  i;.>t,  and  knows 
its  valley  to  you.  I  kno\\s  you  kain't  do  without  them  pa; 
and  I  kno\\>  what '11  happen  el'  them  paper-  -its  auay  fn,m  !Uy 
liands  to  another  pussun's.  Kin  you  gueM  \\hat  would  happen 
ef  the  widow  Kv'legh  got  'em,  or  Cappin  Porgy,  01  erny  oth<r 
honest  white  man  — that  knows  //./»/,  and  how  you  stands? 
What's  the  valley  to  them?  Kf  'taint  five  hundred  -uinea^,  I'll 
give  'em  for  nothin'.  Y»n  shan't  have  'cm  for  a  shilling  1< 

"Well.  Bovtuiek.  I  don't  -,y  that  they  \\ill  not  be  worth  the 
money,  but  1  say  that  \  ou  mu>t  let  :ne  see  them  Jirxt,  that  I 
may  be  sure  of  it." 

"  YIHI  don't  see  'em,  M'Kewn,  tell  the  money '^  on  the  nail. 
You  xltill  trust  me,  and  1  >r»n't  trust  ij»u  :  for  I  kno\\-  \ou,  and 
you're  a  born  ra-eal.  and  I'll  hani:  you,  M'Kewn,  for  the  jili-as- 
ure  of  the  IhiiiLT.  ef  so  !><•  you  don't  fork  out.'' 

"How    long  will    it   take    you    to  get   the   paper.-,    after    I    ltrii)Lr 
the  money?  " 

"How  long?  How  short,  rather'  YOU  kin  hev'  'em  arter 
that,  as  quick  as  you  kin  cry  .lack  IJnbin-on." 

"Ah!  and  if  I  bring  you  live  hundred  guineas  this  very 
nidit?" 

"Then    you  kin   git  the    papers   this    very    niirht?      And    y<n 
better    bring   'em,    M'Kewn.    for    you  sec,    Dory    must    be   a    lady 
I    must    make   her  rich    as  a    ijueeu;   she  mu-t    be  able    to  can 
high    a    head    as   the   widow     Kv'leigh,    and     then    she    kin    marry 
young   Arthur,  the  widow's  son  ;   and   lie   likes    her,  and    is  guine 
to   marry   her,   jest  as  soon  as  I   makes  a  lady  of  her,  and   i 
her  a   fortin'  of    niggers  and  a  farm ;    and  you  shall  be  at  the 
wedding,    .M'Kewn,   though,    by   blisters,    I   should   like  to  see  you 
hanging  up,  with  your  feet  upon  nothing,  only  the  minute  arter. 
But, -bring  the  guineas,  and  make  haste  about  it.      Lord!     How 
my    head    aches  and   jumps.      How    my    eyes  burn!      Bring    the 
guineas;   I'm  a-longing  to  git  shet   of  you,    and   to  rail  in  Dory, 
and  make  her  a  lady.      Be  quick,  and   you   shill  hev'  the  cussed 
papers,  and  ef  you  ain't  quick,  I'll  be  a  hanging  you  like  a  brute 
warmint.     Oh!  the  head,  how  its  ;i  bu:,tinir!" 


THE    BOX   OF   1'APERS.  495 

He  sank  upon  the  pillow  as  he  ended,  with  an  evident  show 
of  increased  suffering. 

'  If  I  were  quite  sure,  Bostwick,  that  you  could  produce  the 
papers  as  soon  as  I  brought  the  money  !  But  you  told  me  that 
they  were  hid  away  in  the  swamp  where  nobody  could  find  them." 

"  Swamp — h-11 !  So  they  were,  hid  in  the  swamp  once 
upon  a  time;  but,  hain't  I  been  thar'  sence  I  got  back;  hain't  I 
got  'em  here,  in  this  very  house,  whar'  I  kin  put  hands  on  'em 
jest  when  I  wants  them  ?  Git  the  guineas,  I  say,  and  don't  be 
foolish  with  your  questions;  and  when  I  sees  Dory  a  lady  of 
fortin,'  with  her  farm  and  niggers,  then  you  shill  hev'  the  box, 
and  much  good  may  it  do  you." 

Again  the  squatter  sank  back  upon  the  pillow,  with  his  hands 
feebly  and  neverously  feeling  about  it,  as  if  to  make  himself  se 
cure  of  his  possession.  M'Kewn  now  varied  his  game. 

•'  I  don't  believe  a  word  you  say,  Bostwick,  and  now,  let  me 
tell  you,  I  saw  the  fellow,  Tony  Hines,  at  Smyzer's,  he  told  me 
that  you  had  got  no  box,  no  papers  —  " 

"  Ha !  Yes  !  Don't  I  know  that  you  saw  Tony  Hines,  at 
Smyzer's;  and  don't  I  know  that  you  gin  him  physic,  and  called 
yourself  a  doctor;  and  you  p'isoned  him  with  your  physic,  and 
killed  him.  Don't  I  know  ?  Does  anything  you  do  hide  itself 
from  me  ?  I  tracked  you,  like  a  sarpent,  sence  I  got  back;  and  I 
know  all  your  doings,  sence  I've  been  home,  as  well  as  before. 
That's  another  thing  agin  you  ;  — your  p'isoning  of  Tony  Hines." 

"  He's  not  dead,  is  he  ?" 

"  Sure  as  you  handled  him  !  I  seed  old  Smyzer,  and  hairn 
all  about  you.  But  don't  be  aggravatin'  me,  I  tell  you,  for  I 
kain't  stand  it.  My  head  is  jest  a  busting  now.  Ef  you  aggra 
vates  me,  I'll  hang  you  !  I'll  git  my  gould  from  another  pusson, 
I'll  sell  you  in  the  market  ;  I'll  send  off  for  Cappiii  Porgy  to 
come  to  me.  You  hear,  do  you?"  —  almost  screaming.  "And 
now  fork  out  the  money,  and  let  me  see  Dory  a  lady,  wTith  a  for 
tin'.  It's  as  much  of  your  neck's  worth  ef  she  don't  git  it  right 
away," 

'*  You  shall  have  the  money,  Bostwick.  There  are  five  hun 
dred  guineas,  not  one,  in  this  bag." 

"  Let  me  feel  it  —  it  don't  look  big  enough  for  so  much.  You're 
s  lying  to  me,  now;  I  knows  you." 


49G  WOODCRAFT. 

"No!  let  me  see  v<  ur  box  of  paper-.  Hold  it  in  your  own 
hands,  "while  I  count  out  the  mone\ . 

"  Well  !     I'll  do  tkot." 

And  tin-  sick  squatter  made  an  effort  to  rise  and  turn  about, 
while  one  of  his  hands  be.iran  to  remove  the  bed-clothes  from 
abput  the  pillow.  M'Kewn  eagerly  watched  him,  the  kij 
pended  irt  his  hand.  Tin-  -quatter  sudd-.-ntly  j>aused,  looked 
round  at  this  moment,  and  caught  the  glance  of  the  Scotchman's 
eye.  ^ 

"You're*  great  scamp,  M'K.-wn.  I  know  you.  Oh!  you're 
a  warmint  !  You  d«n't  B66  tin-  box  till  I  sees  the  money  count 
ed  out.  Ii's  here,  you  horn  thief  and  rapscallion,  but  I  won't 
trust  you  so  much  as  to  !•  <•  it.  ontcl  the  money's  put 

::  here,  the  yallo\v  birds,  all  a  living  about  me,  on  the  while 
bed  clothes,  where  I  kin  count  Ym.  IMank  'em  down,  and 
when  1  B66fl  'cm.  then  you  shill  see  the  ]>:, 

Once   more   the    squatter  sank    back  exhausted.   inutteriiiL1 
inodically  — 

"  IMank    '(in  down  —  all   for   I>ory       lady,    tine   fortin'—  Arthur 
Kv'leiuh.      lla'halha!     Don't     I     see?     Don't    I    know    it'll     b*1 
Kv  lelgh.      .'/  v    Dorothy  Kv'lei-h  " 

M'Kewn  was  apparently  deposed  to  do  as  he  was  refjuired  — 
to  open  his  bai:  of  iruineas.  and  to  count  them  out  upon  the  bed- 
•ind  the  squatter,  thouirh  sinkin.sr  back  exhausted,  wa-  yet  keenly 
observant  of  all  the  inov«  ments  of  hi  '  .  IJuf,  either  the 

ilemonstratioii  was  not  seri,»u-iy  be.irun  by  the  Scotchman,  or  his 
purpose  suddenly  underwent  a  change.  \\"hilc  IK;  looked  upon 
the  seeminirly  faint  and  feeble  condition  of  the  stniatter,  other 
purposes  which  he  had  already  contemplated,  rapidly  ripened 
for  performance  in  his  brain.  The  thoughts  occurred  to  him  — 

"Shall  1  continue  at  the  mercy  of  this  mi-erable  wretch,  \\hen 
a  little  determination  is  all  that  is  needful  to  extricate  m 
from  his  power.  lb-  has  the  box  of  papers  beneath  his  pillow. 
Of  his  possession  of  it,  no  one  knows  but  myself.  He  can  pvc 
no  evidence  of  its  contents.  No  one  sco  us.  The  family  is  all 
away.  Why  should  I  not  possess  my>elf  of  this  testimony,  and 
destroy  it?  He  cannot  oppose  me.  He  has  not  strength  for  it. 
In  a  moment  it  is  mine.  In  another  moment  I  give  it  to  the 


THE    BOX    OF    PAPEKS.  497 

flames.      I  were  a  fool  to  hesitate — to  suffer  this  auspicious  moment 
to  escape  me  !" 

The  stillness  of  the  scene  —  the  loneliness  of  the  neighborhood  — 
night  and  silence  —  the  feebleness  of  the  squatter  —  his  own  neces 
sities  and  apprehensions  —  all  conspired  to  persuade  M'Kewn  to 
seize  upon  the  desired  possession.  He  saw  directly  where  it 
lay,  and,  though  the  head  of  the  squatter  rested  upon  it,  no 
great  effort  would  be  required,  he  thought,  to  tear  it  from 
under  him.  The  temptation  was  irresistible,  and  while  Bost- 
wick  was  looking  to  see  the  bag  of  gold  laid  bare  before  him, 
M'Kewn  suddenly  thrust  it  back  into  the  pocket  of  the  great 
overcoat  he  Avore,  and,  in  the  same  instant,  seized  upon  the  pile 
of  bedclothes  which  covered  the  box  beneath  the  pillow,  and, 
with  a  violent  grasp,  tore  it  away  upon  the  floor.  The  head 
of  the  squatter,  in  consequence  of  the  jerk,  was  thrown  off,  with 
the  pillow,  from  the  box.  The  desired  treasure  was  exposed, 
fairly  before  the  eyes  of  the  Scotchman.  He  seized  it  eagerly; 
but  before  he  could  drag  it  from  its  place,  the  squatter  had 
grappled  with  it  also  ;  screaming  out  his  fury,  at  the  same  time, 
in  the  wildest  accents. 

"  Ha  !  you  born  thief,  en'  that's  your  game,  is  it  ?  But  two 
kin  play  at  that  game,  my  honey ;  and  we'll  see  who's  the  best 
man." 

The  squatter  was  now  up  in  bed.  Even  in  this  situation,  and 
sick,  M'Kewn  found  him  no  easy  customer.  Lithe,  active,  and 
accustomed  to  every  sort  of  toil  and  encounter,  his  strength  was 
really  surprising.  For  awhile  the  parties  struggled  for  the  box ; 
but  soon  the  squatter,  more  accustomed  to  the  emergencies  of 
such  a  strife,  suddenly  relaxed  his  hold  upon  the  object  of  con 
tention,  and  caught  hold  of  M'Kewn  himself.  His  lingers  were 
soon  about  the  throat  of  the  Scotchman.  The  latter  found  it  no 
slight  matter  to  break  away  from  the  tenacious  grasp  of  his  op 
ponent.  But,  still  grasping  the  box,  he  finally  succeeded  in  do 
ing  so.  But  he  was  not  thus  to  escape  in  triumph.  Bostwick 
bounded  after  him,  out  of  the  bed,  and  fastened  upon  him  again 
with  the  claws  of  a  young  tiger.  The  fearful  conflict  was  re 
newed.  After  awhile  M'Kewn  bore  him  back  successfully,  and 
thrust  him  again  upon  the  bed ;  but  even  then  he  failed  to  throw 
him  off.  The  squatter  ching  to  him  with  a  spasmodic  energy 


498  WOODCRAFT. 

which  seemed  to  increase  hi-  powers;  and  desperate  by  tin-  op 
position  hf  encountered.  M'Kewn  fiercely  smote  him  upon  the 
head  with  the  box.  twice,  thrice—  holding  it  in  both  hands  — the 
blows  i-omini;  down  with  a  heavy,  dull  sound,  as  if  upon  a  bank 
of  earth. 

With  a  howl,  rather  than  a  cry.  IJoMwirk  -ei/ed  his  assailant 
with  a  new  hold  ;  takinir  him  now  with  both  arms,  about  the 
neek.  and  drawing  him  down  upon  him,  where  he  lay.  Here, 
while  almo>t  fainting  from  his  hurts  and  the  exhaustion  of  Mich 
a  simple.  In-  BtTOVe,  with  hi-  last  wolfish  in-tincis.  t«.  bite  and 
rend,  with  hi-  teeth,  the  enemy  whom  he  could  no  longer  injure 
with  hi-  hands.  At  this  -ta-c  of  tin-  proceedings,  and  before 
eitlier  of  the  combatant-  could  conjecture  the  proximity  of  other 
perBODS,  P'T-v  IUMM  "pen  the  door  of  the  liovel  with  a  single 
stroke  of  hi-  feet,  and  ru-lied  into  the  room,  followed  clo-eK 
by  Pincknev.  the  -lierilT.  and  the  rest  of  tin  parly. 

They  did  not  appear  a  moment  too  soon.  The  head  of  the 
squatter  \\a-  bleeding  freely  from  -evera!  hurt-;  hi-  teeth  \\eiv 
already  sunk  with  the  ferocious  passjon  of  tin-  wild  hea-t,  into 
the  throat  of  hi-  a— ailant.  So  f.-.-t  was  the  hold  which  lie  had 
taken,  that  it  was  ditlicult  to  tear  M'Keun  from  hi-  i:ra-p.  The 
ctl'ort  to  do  so  draped  the  squatter  from  his  bed  upon  the  floor, 
\\here  he  lay  like  a  batlled  and  wounded  panther,  writhing  and 
shrieking  in  hi-  a^ony  and  disappointment 

M'Krwn  l.-t  all  presence  of  mind,  all  strength,  the  moment 
he  found  himself  in  the  pn -dice  of  other  parties,  lie  had  lin-n 
fearfully  breathed  in  the  violent  >truur.Lrlr  through  -Ahich  he  had 
gone;  but  it  was  mental  paralysis  from  which  he  now  -ulleied. 
A  complcti-  collapse  of  all  the  i-in-rLri«-s  followed  the  exposure. 
The  box  fell  from  his  nerveless  Lrrasp.  and  wa>  instantly  picked 
uj)  by  Lance  Frampton.  He  stau'Lrered  liack  toward  the  bed, 
upon  which  he  sank-,  his  jaws  fell;  and  his  stren-th  sei-mrd 
barely  enough  to  allow  him  to  cover  his  face  with  his  hands. 
In  a  single  instant  he  became  conscious  that  all  was  lost  ;  and 
that  he  was  self-delivered  into  the  hands  of  his  most  powerful 
enemies. 

"You  are  my  prisoner."  said  the  sheriff  to  M'Krwn,  laying 
nis  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

He   had    not   a    word    to   answer;    thoroughly  overwhelmed   by 


THE   BOX   OF   PAPEKS.  499 

the  circumstances  of  his  situation,  and  the  fact  that  he  had  been 
caught  flagranti  delicto. 

"That's  it!  that's  right!"  cried  the  squatter,  whose  loss  of 
blood  had  brought  him  fairly  to  his  senses,  and  who  now,  quite 
as  promptly  as  the  Scotchman,  appreciated  all  the  difficulties  of 
his  situation.  "Take  him  prisoner,"  he  cried — "I'm  the  wit 
ness  agin  him,  the  infernal  thief  and  tory,  and  murderer  and  villain; 
that  stole  your  niggers,  Cappin  Porgy;  I  carried  him  forty-three 
on  em  that  never  kin  git  back  —  all  off  your  place — and  he  sold 
'em  to  Moncrieff;  and  many  more  besides;  but  here's  the  box; 
it's  got  the  pretickilar  papers  to  convict  him  and  to  hang  him, 
the  villain,  and  the  nigger  thief,  and  murderer.  You  seed  him 
how  he  wanted  to  murder  me  in  my  own  bed,  and  all  to  git 
the  papers,  and  to  hush  up  my  evidence;  but  he'll  hev'  the  justice 
done  to  him  at  last,  and  I'll  be  a  witness  agin  him  ef  they'll  let  me 
go  free,  and  pardon  me  for  what  I  did  for  him.  I  did  it  only  for 
him." 

"You  are  not  forced  to  speak,"  said  the  sheriff.  "It  is  just  as 
you  please  —  to  be  silent,  or  tell  all  that  you  know." 

"I'll  tell  all  I  know!  I'm  ready  and  willing,  of  my  own  free 
consent." 

"  Stop!  "  said  Pinckney;  "  let  him  be  sworn.  I  have  a  reason  for 
it.  Is  there  a  Bible  in  the  house?  " 

Porgy  was  able  to  find  one.  He  knew  where  Dory  kept  it. 
It  was  produced.  Pinckney  administered  the  oath;  and  the 
squatter,  in  the  hearing  of  the  man  he  accused,  made  a  tolerably 
clean  breast  of  it.  He  furnished  a  long  and  fearful  history,  the 
character  of  which  we  can  well  conjecture  from  the  portions  al 
ready  put  into  our  possession.  The  statements  were  all  taken 
down  as  delivered.  M'Kewn  sank  upon  the  bed  utterly  pros 
trate,  and  incapable  even  of  denial.  The  miserable  criminal  ab 
solutely  swooned  under  the  prospect  of  discovery  and  con 
viction. 

"And  now,"  cried  the  squatter,  when  he  was  done,  "you'll  git 
me  my  pardon,  won't  you?  I've  told  all!  Them  papers  in  the 
box  will  tell  you  something,  too.  He  set  me  on  to  do  what  I 
did,  and  he's  got  all  the  profit,  the  etarnal  villain,  that  wanted 
to  murder  me  in  my  own  bed,  and  me  a  sick  man.  You'll  git 
me  off,  cappin;  and  you,  Colonel  Pinckney  —  I  knows  you,  colo- 


f,(>()  \\  (.»(>!)(   I!  A  IT. 

nel!     You'll   u'it    me  my  pan. on.    from   tin-  .irov'nor.  when    I   tell-  nil 
afore  the  court'.'  " 

"Yoq   must    -c«-k  your  pardon  of  heaven,  my   poor  fellow. "\\a> 

the  ansuer  ,,f  Pinckney,  made  with   j»r  trinity.      "  The  only 

court  which  you  will  now  be  summon,  la  that  of  the  I 

ual  Jud.nv  of  tin-  world.      Humble  your-rlf  before   him  with   all   the 

vou  can.  'id   pray  for  the   mediation  of 

Christ    in  your   behalf.      1    de.-m   it    N$  11  you  that  \  ou 

•/en  now  a  dyiii.u'  man'     (lentleim-ri.  the  sooner  the  most  of  vou 

;u.    the    belter:    this    unhappy    man    i<    dyimj    of    the 

small-pox!" 


('  II  APTK  II     L.\  \  . 

\-TKnIMIi;. 

TIIO-K  only  \\ho  know  the  It  rn-rs  in-pired   by  the  small] 
the   period    of  which    \\c   writ.',    can    j-r-.p'-rly  appreciate   tin-  j>aiiic 
which  was  occasioned  by  the  speech  of   I'inckncy.     Amoi, 
pie  of  the  country,  in  particular.  !  humanity  was  held 

a  wor>e   danger   than  the   jtla^uc  of  ihe  lla-l.      .M«  n  who  would  fear 

.   brave  the  Held  of  battle,  tied,  at   ihe  bare    inc,,iion  of  \\n>  ; 
without  onct-  looking  behind  them.     !:  wafl  so  on  this  occasion.     Our 
excellent    captain    of     partisi:  ^noiiir    the     liM     to    find     hi> 

way    out    of    the    hovel,      lie    was    followed    by    all    but    Pine  i. 
the    sherilT,    his    deputy,    and    the    pri-om-r    M'Kewn.       Tin  — 
citi/.ens,  were  more   accustomed   to   the   pe.-t,  and   liail.  we  sup: 
been  all    inoculated.      They   remained    in   the   farther  pn -edition  of 
the  work  before  them.      At  the  door.  Pinckney  proceeded  to  BUj 
to    Porgy    the    course    to    be    pursued    in     respect     to    coincident 
matters. 

"You  must  see  to  this  man's  family,  captain.  Have  them  be 
stowed  in  safety,  in  some  place  where  they  can  not  come  in  con 
tact  with  persons  not  inoculated.  If  you  or  Mrs.  Eveleigh  have 
any  servants  who  have  had  the  disease,  send  them  here  to  at 
tend  upon  this  wretched  creature.  He  will  scarcely  live  aiiotlur 
day;  but  send  for  Dr.  Warley,  and,  in  the  meantime,  let  him 


CATASTROPHE.  501 

have  some  cooling  medicines  and  proper  food.  But  see  that  you  keep 
his  wife  away,  unless  she  has  been  inoculated  —  which  I  suppose  very 
unlikely." 

Porgy  undertook  all  the  necessary  commissions.  We  will  leave 
him  to  execute  them,  which,  we  may  add,  in  this  place,  he  did  with 
equal  diligence  and  effect.  Returning  to  the  chamber  of  the  squatter, 
Pinckney  found  him  raving. 

"The  small-pox  !"  he  cried.  "Don't  you  tell  me  sich  d d 

foolishness.  Taint  no  small-pox,  I  tell  you !  It's  only  fever  — 
it's  a  mighty  hot  fever,  I  know,  and  this  fight  with  that  etarnal 
villain  thar,  has  only  made  it  worser  and  hotter  ;  —  but  'taint  no 
small-pox.  Whar  was  I  to  git  the  small-pox,  I  wants  to  know; 
me  living  ^in  the  swamps  and  here.  'Spose  I  was  in  town  1  was 
that  to  give  me  sinall-pox,  when  I  was  thar  a  day  only  ?  I  know 
better !  I  know  'taint  small-pox,  and  I've  got  the  strength  of  a 
horse ;  yet  you  tell  me  I'm  a  dying  man  —  me  a  dying  man,  and 
sich  a  mortal  sinner !  Lord  God  !  ef  I'm  so  sick  as  all  that, 
send  for  the  doctor.  There's  gould  to  pay  him  —  thar,  in  that 
box.  Thar's  a  hundred  and  fifty  guineas  in  that  box.  Mind 
you,  it's  Dory's  money  ;  and  thar's  a  bag  of  guineas  in  that  bloody 
villain's  pocket,  and  by  rights  that's  Dory's  money  too.  Re 
member  Dory  1  Lord,  whar's  Dory  ?  Don't  you  let  her  come 
nigh  to  me,  ef  it's  small-pox  I've  got  ;  but  send  for  my  wife  to 
nuss  me.  She's  somewhar  about  in  the  woods.  You'll  see 
by  the  fire.  Send  her  here.  What's  she  doing  in  the  woods 
when  I'm  a-wanting  her  here  ?  Oh  !  Lord,  that  I  should  come 
to  this  ;  and  thar  you  stand,  and  a-doing  nothing  for  me,  and  yet 
you  says  I'm  a-dying  of  the  small-pox.  Yet  don't  I  know  it's 
a  lie?  It's  only  clone  to  skear  me  !  And  what  does  you  want 
to  skear  me  for  euy  more  ?  Hevn't  I  told  you  all  I  know  about 
that  bloody  scamp?  Ef  you  wants  me  to  tell  about  the  skrim- 
mage,  and  how  I  had  to  shoot  Dick  Norris,  you're  clean  mis 
taken.  I  won't  say  a  word  ;  I'll  shet  up,  and  you  shall  never 
pry  betwixt  my  teeth  to  see  what's  under  my  tongue.  No  !  nor 
you  shaint  know  about  the  blowing  up  of  the  vessel .  She  blow'd 
up,  and  what  hed  I  to  do  with  it?  Thar  was  a  train — I  knows 
that  —  and  it  ended  in  the  three  kags  of  gunpowder;  but  who 
seed  me  put  fire  to  it,  I  wants  to  know  ?  Whar's  the  pussou 
here  kin  say  he  seed  it,  I'd  like  to  know  !  No  !  thar's  no  pusson 


502  WOOI  Ml;  \  IT. 

and  why  should  I  hev  the  sm.-dl  pox  mitell  you  prove  agin  me 
all  these  tilings?  The  small-p«»x  indeed!  That's  mighty  foolish. 
What  should  inve  inc.  a  si rong  man.  useii  to  the  city,  the  M 
smallpox?  1  laughs  at  it,  I  tell  you!  I  laugh-!  Ha'  ha! 
ha!  and  I  snaps  my  lingers  at  it.  Does  that  look  like  a  d \iii.u' 
man?  A  dying  man'  Lord  Cod,  hev  many  el  BO  be  it'-  true 
what  these  men  njB\  <>h!  my  Cud  hev  marcy  upon  me 
a  -inner.  1  know  I'm  a  black  sinner,  and  Hasted  through  and 
through  with  the  p'ivon  of  >in  :  but  el"  I  am.  air  you  -nine  to  let 
me  die  without  a  doctor,  and  arter  1  t< -I'd  y«-u  everything  I 
know'd  about  that  murdering  villain  thar?  <  MY  I/.rd.  -rml  for 
the  doctor.  Don't  leave  me  to  die.  1  kaint  die!  I  \\on't  die. 
I  hev  a  heap  to  do,  to  buy  the  r:n  and  to  SCO 

Dory  a  lady  of  1'nrtin!  Small  p<>\  !,«•  d  d'  'Taint  no  siuall- 
POZ]  It'-  a  In.)  fevei  only.  Ci\e  me  s.iinr  writer.  (  Jh  !  how 
it  burns.  I'm  a  burning  u[».  I'm  all  Mitten,  and  nobody  to  hel|> 
me.  Take  him  away,  that  bloody  \illaiu  thar  :  I  in  all  afire  8O 
IOIILT  .-  I  him.  Take  him  a\\ayand  hitch  him  uj>.  I'.f  I'm 

to    die.    I     know    who'-     io     haiiLf.      N\  together,      Tin-    old 

Horny    swore     it     should    be   so,  and    I    lel'd    him!     Oh!   the    black 
villain,  he's    _Lr,,i  to  ham:,  and   that's   the  satNfa'-li.m    I'll   hev    .d    tin- 
last.      I     knows    it,    and     he    know-,    it     too'      He     ^hall     liani:.    like 
Dick    Nnrri-.  and    nobody    to    sav<-    his    neck    from    cra<  kin^r. 
Indict   through    the    head.      He    don't    d  (fiend.      He  don't. 

But,  oh!  Lord,  the  tin-  in  my  witals.  Whar's  that  woman-- 
whar's  my  wife — to  uive  me  di  ink  ?  The -mall  po\  '  I>ut  don't  you 
let  Dory  come.  F.\t  n  ef  I  dies,  -In  'l  to  be  a  lady  of  fortin.  Thar's 
tho  money.  It's  all  for  her  :  ' 

\\'e    need    not    listen   farther  to    these   ra\iii'_rs,  though   they   wen- 
still    for  some  time    longer,    poured   into  the   ear-  of    I'inekney   and 
the    sheriff,  with    unreasini:  volume,    and    wonderful   rapidity.     The 
fever    was     rapidly     increasing     in    the    brain.       T\w    disease     was 
doing   its  work    with    fearful     speed    and    vigor.     The    terrilil-- 
crets   of  a   life  of  crime   were   delivered    without   a   consciou-- 
and  the  stroinr  men  shuddered  as  they  heard,  hardly  de:  mini:   it  pc» 

sible,  from  their  previous  experience,  that  society  should  possess  an 

individual  capable  of  such  a  revelation  of  e\il  deeds,  the  performance 
of  his  own  hands. 

After    a  brief  consultation  with    the  sheriff,    the  latter,   with  a 


CATASTROPHE.  503 

couple  of  his  assistants,  took  M'Kewn  away.  The  latter  was 
passive  in  the  hands  of  his  guards.  They  conducted  him  to  his 
own  house,  and  securing  him  in  his  chamber  they  put  watches 
upon  the  apartment,  so  that  he  could  not  escape.  Porgy,  mean 
while,  conveyed  the  wife  of  the  squatter,  with  Dory  and  the  two 
other  children,  to  his  own  dwelling,  in  which  he  assigned  them 
the  best  apartments.  Lance  Frampton  went  after  Doctor  Warley, 
the  ablest  and  nearest  physician  upon  the  river,  while  a  couple 
of  elderly  slaves,  both  of  whom  had  passed  through  the  fearful 
disease  which  was  consuming  the  life  of  the  squatter,  were  sent 
by  Mrs.  Eveleigh  to  attend  upon  him.  Cooling  medicines,  bev 
erages,  and  delicacies,  such  as  might  be  thought  calculated  to 
alleviate  the  sufferings,  or  meet  the  wants  of  the  patient,  were 
provided,  and,  by  dawn  the  next  day,  he  was  in  as  good  hands, 
and  as  carefully  attended,  as  was  possible  under  the  circum 
stances.  Doctor  "Warley  was  soon  with  him;  but  the  first  glance 
at  the  patient  showed  that  all  efforts  would  be  made  in  vain. 
The  type  of  the  desease  was  singularly  malignant;  and  exposure 
in  the  swamps,  violent  passions,  and  vexing  strifes  and  anxieties, 
had  added  fearfully  to  its  virulence.  Within  the  time  predicted 
by  Pinckney,  he  was  a  corpse. 


A  conference  ensued  between  Pinckney,  the  sheriff  and 
M'Kewn,  at  the  house  of  the  latter.  He  was  still  in  close  keep 
ing.  The  charges  against  him  were  of  a  sufficiently  serious 
character,  involving  not  simply  his  fortune,  but  his  life.  He  felt 
all  the  dangers  of  his  situation.  In  the  first  feeling  of  utter 
hopelessness,  he  humbly  entreated  the  mercy  and  forbearance 
of  the  prosecutors.  The  better  to  secure  this,  he  produced  the 
bond  and  mortgage  of  Porgy  —  he  entered  satisfaction  upon  them, 
and  upon  the  judgments  which  he  also  held  against  the  rest  of 
his  debtor's  property.  He  confessed  to  a  participation  in  the  sale 
of  the  forty-three  slaves  abducted  from  the  captain's  plantation, 
as  charged  by  the  squatter,  and  as  confirmed  by  the  documents, 
now  open  before  them,  from  the  box  of  the  widow.  There  was, 
perhaps,  no  confession  necessary.  The  conviction  would  be  quite 


504  WOODCRAFT, 

complete  without   it.      Hut    M'Kewn'-  p  .-    to    make   a    merit 

of  necessity.      As    lit-    be^an    to    recover    hi*   contideiu  r       removed 
from    tin-    fearful    >LrhN    and    BOSOM    in   the  cottage  of  the  squatter 
—  he  ventured    to   ur-e    upon    Pinckney  and     the    sheriiT,   the   ron- 
cessions  he    had   voluntarily   made  as  a   plea   for  ><>me  induL' 
II'-    tendered    hail,     but     neither    of    them    was    authori/.ed     t 
cei\c    it.       He  pleaded   for    a    mitigation    of    tip 

tineincnt;  Jmt   on  this  point.    I'inekii'-y    referred  the  matter    wholly 
to  the   sheriff,    who,    thereupon,    iiMead  of  lesseiiini:  tlie    shai ; 
of  liis    watch,   increa-ed  it,   leaving  one  of  }\\<  most   truMy  deputies 
within  the  chamber  of  the  criminal.      This  mnn.    M'Krwn   attempt 
ed  to  bribe  with  a  large  amount  of  money  in    gold,      lint  the  dep- 
utv    \\as    invincible.      Th'-   crimin.-d     opened     the    chest    within    his 
chamber,      the    Contents   of     which    v\  e     haw     already    seen,    when 
the   squatter    wa-    itermitted    the    same    prh  :d    divu     forth 

a  pile  of   the    glitterim:    treasure,    so    da/xlim.1-   to  LT  and 

dro\\sy  cm 

"  You  shall  have  it  all."  said  he.  in  a  husky  whisper,  "only 
secure  the  fellow  in  the  pa— a-e  until  I  can  -et  olT.  You  can 
both  make  oil'  with  it  — with  nil  that  you  can  carry  —ami  you 
need  not  then  dread  expo-lire." 

The  amount    thus   proiTered    *  mptation    for  a  poor 

man;    but    this   one,- — who.    by   the    way,    had    not    the   coura: 
stand    the   threatened     lead    of    Captain    Ponry  and    hi-    veterans, — 
had    yet    the    tirmnt—    to    -ay    to    the    temp-  ••  •!    tln-e    beliind 

me."      It    mii:ht    be     that     his    virtue  rned    by    his  f 

and    by    the    knowledge     that     there    were    Other    watehe: 
himself,    but    we    prefer,    for    the    sake   of    humanity,   to  believe    in 
the    fellow's    virtue.       \Ve    continually    do    mischief    to    moral-,    by 
assuming  too  low  a  standard  of  virtue  for  the  poor. 

I>eci  ivi-d  and  bailie*!.  .M'Kewn  mvw  morose.  Food  wa-  broiiLrht 
him  at  the  proper  hour.  He  refused  to  eat.  The  dinner-hour 
passed.  >u»-ht  came  on.  lie  would  take  no  supper.  Hut  he 
drank,  if  he  did  not  eat.  He  drank  till  his  cheeks  were  Hushed, 
and  his  eyes  wore  a  ferocious  and  glazed  i-xpivs-iori.  which  the  dep 
uty  dreaded  very  much  to  behold.  About  an  hour  after  nijrht,  the 
Sheriff  entered  the  chamber,  and  said  — 

"This  man  Bostwick  is  evidently  dying.  Dr.  Warley  thinks  he 
can  not  live  through  the  night." 


CATASTROPHE.  505 

The  teeth  of  M'Kcwn  gnashed  fiercely. 

"  What  is  that  to  me  !    Let  him  die  and — " 

The  sentence  remained  unfinished.  The  sheriff  readily  guessed 
the  words  with  which  he  would  have  supplied  the  blank.  He 
turned  away  and  left  the  prisoner  ;  but,  seeing  his  condition, 
and  suspecting  in  some  degree  the  cause,  he  removed  the  decanter 
of  Jamaica  which  stood  upon  the  table.  M'Kewn  saw  the  act, 
but  said  nothing.  He  possibly  felt  that  it  would  be  useless  to 
expostulate.  At  twelve  that  night,  the  squatter  died,  howling, 
in  the  wildest  agonies,  physical  and  mental,  with  horrible  curses 
on  his  lips.  An  imprecation  upon  the  head  of  M'Kewn,  while 
his  fingers  seemed  to  grapple  and  rend  something  in  the  air  before 
him,  finished  the  awful  scene,  which  Pinckney  witnessed  with 
the  physician.  Glad  to  escape  into  fresh  air,  he  mounted  his 
horse,  the  moment  the  scene  was  over,  and  galloped  off  to  Glen- 
Eberley.  Here  supper  awaited  him,  and  the  partisan,  and  sheriff, 
with  their  companions.  They  had  scarcely  seated  themselves  and 
begun  to  partake,  when  they  heard  the  tramplings  of  a  horse  at 
full  speed,  and,  a  moment  after,  one  of  the  deputies,  left  in  charge 
of  M'Kewn,  bounded  into  the  room,  his  checks  pale,  and  his  eyes 
wild  with  fright. 

"How  now,  my  good  fellow,  what's  the  matter  ?"  demanded  the 
sheriff.  "  What  has  scared  you?  " 

"Oh!  Sir,  the  prisoner's  blowed  his  brains  out." 

All  the  party  started  to  their  feet. 

*  Have  the  horses  got,  Lance!  "  said  Porgy  promptly. 

"  How  was  it? "  demanded  the  sheriff.  The  deputy's  story  ran  as 
follows: — 

It  appears  that  the  moody  sullenness  of  M'Kewn  continued. 
He  demanded  more  drink.  It  was  denied  him,  according  to  the 
instructions  of  the  sheriff.  He  suddenly  supplied  himself  with 
more  from  a  closet,  and  his  keeper  did  not  think  himself  author 
ized  to  take  it  from  him  by  force.  As  the  night  advanced  his 
potations  increased  in  frequency,  and  his  sullennness  and  ferocity 
were  succeeded  by  a  fit  of  extreme  nervous  susceptibility.  He 
would  start  up  and  exclaim  passionately,  then  sink  down  in  his 
chair  and  cover  his  face  with  his  hands  ;  but  he  could  not  continue 
long  in  this  or  any  other  position.  At  length,  he  suddenly  confronted 
the  keeper 


506  WOODCRAIT. 

"  Let  me  out,"  said  he,  "  I  must  go  and  see  Bostwick.  He  baa 
sent  for  me  to  come.  He  calls  for  me.  I  hear  him." 

The  keeper  refu-ed. 

"Will  you   go   to    him    then   for   me?     I    will    pay  you.      ,sr< 
Look  here.     You  shall   have  all  this,  if  you  \vill  pi  to  him  with  a 

manage." 

And  he  opened  the  chest  and,  kneeling  by  it.  took  up  several 
pieces  of  gold,  which  he  counted  from  one  palm  to  the  other.  The 
keeper  still  refusing,  he  Hung  the  gold  back  into  the  chest— and 
seemed  about  to  rise,  when  he  Middenh  exclaimed  — 

"Don't  you  hear  him?  Be  IB  there!  He' is  herel  He  hale,  me  to 
him.  I  must  go!" 

And  he  seemed  to  follow  with  his  eyea  the  motion  of  a  person 
unseen.  Then  he  threw  himself  into  an  attitude,  still  over  tin-  client. 
as  if  about  to  struggle  with  a  foe. 

"I  will  never  go,"  lie  cried.  "To  the  gallows,  yooitelf, 
wretch;  Init  you  do  not  carry  me.  No!  No!  I  defy  you.  The 
devil,  you  >ay'  The  devil!  IMiaw!  I  am  not  to  be  frightened  in 
that  way 

Then,  a-  if  suddenly  tilled  with  terror,  he  crouched  and  buried 
his  head  in  the  che-i  —crying  out 

"He  halei  me  away  he  i\  ton  Strong!  Help!  Help!  T 
can  not  stand  it:"  and.  rising,  with  a  cry,  from  the  chest,  the 
deputy,  for  the  lir-t  time,  saw  that  he  had  a  pistol  in  each  hand. 
With  these  lie  Memed  to  confront  s..me  unseen  enemy.  He 
made  no  demonstrations  upon  the  guard,  who  did  not  dan-  to 
approach  him,  thus  wcaponed.  At  length,  as  if  about  to  be 
overcome,  he  retreated  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  room,  crying 
out  — 

'•Do  not  press  me  to  the  wall.  If  you  do,  —  if  you  dare — Oh! 
my  God  —  my  God!  He  will  come!" 

With  these  words,  he  discharged  one  of  the  pistols  at  the  imagin 
ary  object,  then  cried,  while  every  limb  trembled  with  horror  — 

"It  went  through  him,  and  he  does  not  fall.  He  comes  still. 
Oh!"  with  a  choking  cry — "His  fingers  are  upon  my  throat !  Oh: 
God ,  have  mercy ! " 

Thus  speaking,  he  clapped  the  other  pistol  to  his  own  head,  and, 
with  the  crash  of  the  report,  sank  down  in  a  heap  upon  the  floor, 
utterly  lifeless,  with  his  forehead  entirely  blown  away. 


THE   GRAPES   ARE   SOUR.  507 

Such  was  the  story  told  by  the  guard.  According  to  the  state 
ment  of  time,  there  could  not  have  been  five  minutes  between  the 
death  of  the  two  miserable  criminals.  Enough ! 

"  Draw  the  curtain  close, 
And  let  us  in  to  meditation." 


CHAPTER   LXVI. 

THE  GRAPES    ARE   SOUR! 

IT  was  a  remarkable  proof  of  providential  interposition  —  so 
thought  in  those  days  at  least — that  not  one  of  the  persons  who 
came  in  contact  with  the  squatter  in  his  last  illness,  caught  the 
small-pox  from  him.  Yet  his  wife,  little  Dory,  and  the  two  other 
children,  had  been,  for  three  days  at  least,  constantly  in  the  sick 
man's  chamber.  This  was  held  a  wonderful  proof  of  God's  gra 
cious  favor;  and  to  those  who  knew  the  contagious  character  of 
that  malignant  pest,  it  was  certainly  a  very  remarkable  circum 
stance. 

After  a  proper  interval,  the  humble  family  was  again  permit 
ted  to  commune  with  its  former  patrons.  Mrs.  Eveleigh  took  Dory 
into  her  house,  and  the  united  appropriations  of  the  widow  and  our 
captain,  made  ample  provision  for  the  future  comfort  of  the  mother 
and  the  other  children,  in  a  little  farm  of  her  own,  where  she  dwelt 
forever  after,  in  a  condition  of  humble  comfort,  which  left  her  little 
to  desire.  Porgy  gave  her  an  old  negro,  and  the  widow^Eveleigh  a 
young  one.  Little  Dory  had  a  teacher  provided  for  her,  and,  in  a 
superior  society,  and  with  proper  education,  the  native  talents  and 
graces  of  the  child  daily  exhibited  new  blooms,  and  the  sweetest 
developments.  In  process  of  time,  when  she  grew  to  womanhood, 
her  charms  made  themselves  felt  in  every  heart  with  which  her  own 
came  in  contact,  until  —  but  let  us  not  anticipate.  Let  us  return  to 
our  principal  parties. 

Glen-Eberley,  by  the  events  recorded  in  our  last  chapter,  was 
made  secure  to  its  proprietor.  Our  captain  of  partisans  was  re 
lieved  of  all  his  embarrassments.  His  debt  to  Mrs.  Eveleigh  was 
not  of  this  order.  The  profits  of  the  plantation  were  quite  ade- 


WOODCRAFT, 

qualc,    with    u    feu  indulgence,   to   liquidate  thi>.   and  all 

other   obligations    of    a    pecuniary    nature.     Pori.r\  .    at    laM,    f«uinil 
shelter   beneath    hi  with    noi:e   to   make  him  afraid.      He 

had    his   friends   about    him,   hi-,  Mnging-binl,   and  hi*  pu//le   in  a 
bottle.      G  r   Oakcnhurg,    much    to    the 

disquiet   of  Millho;.  <,he  C'stablishnieiit.     Tlic 

f'lrnMi.'d   the   liallads   for  the    evening    fireside;    the    other 
content    to    provoke    the^vi!    of    others,    \\ithout 

of   it    hiinself.     Th--  still  delivered   (tie   law    from   his  sell'- 

c-tahlHicd    tripod.      He    Wit    still    an    oracle    who   suflVn-d    no  don; 
to    bark,      i  Yampton    was   a    frequent    vi-ii.-r.    and    so 

more,  was  Arthur   '  . .,  ><1  fellowship,   and 

piquant   matter  of    remark,   though   still   occasionally    >u>pici<  ; 
the  captain's  inclinations  to  his  mother.     On  thi 
he   no   l<,n-_vr   ventured   to  exhibit    hi*    bo\i>h    peinlancr.      Tie 

rebuke  of    his  otherwise  p-ntlc  and   a!Tectionat«:   mother,   had 
j)i-Mved   (juiir   sulVicient    to  curb,   at    li-a^t    for  th<  'iicyoun^ 

tiLTer  striving  within   him;  and.  to  sum   up  in  a  word.  (Ilen-Kb- 

iited    to   they've    the   condition  <.fa  wcll-mana.  ii«»M. 

in    which    tin-    part;  ;ll    at    peace    with    themselves   and  one 

another. 

The  same  tiling  rniiiht  be  said  of  the  neighborhood.  The  «.rc- 
nial  moods  prevailing  in  the  OIK-  household  radiated  in  all  d 
tions.  (Jlen-Klicrley  became  a  s«»rt  of  center  for  1h"  parish  civili 
zation.  The  charm  v,  of  salient  a'traclion  — 
which  drew  the  ^i-ntry.  all  around,  within  the  sphere  of  its  trenial, 
yet  provocative  intlueih  of  anxiety.  1'oriry  resumed  his 
ancient  spirit.  The  ]>i(juaney  of  his  society,  v  nrhef€  ;:e- 
knowledpf!;  and,  with  the  sergeant  and  Doctor  Oakenbur 
his  foils,  the  liumor  of  our  captain  of  parti.sins  wsa  irn-i-tihlc. 
Fun  and  jihilosophy  wore  strangely  minirled  in  him,  "and  they 
wroughl  together  in  unison.  To  ri>e  from  a  praftir-al  je-t  into 
fields  of  fanciful  speculation,  was  -m  habitual  with  our 
camp  philosopher.  To  narrate  the  experiences  through  which  he 
had  gone,  delivering  history  and  biography,  anecdote  and  opinion, 
with  the  ease  of  a  well  bred  gentleman  over  his  wine  and  walnuts, 
was  to  him  an  art  familiar  as  the  adjustment  of  his  neck-cloth. — 
And  these  things  were  all  delivered  with  a  spirit  and  a  quaintness 
giving  them  wonderful  relish,  and  which  was  peculiarly  his  owa 


THE    GKAPES   ARE   SOUR  !  509 

Thus  the  days  glided  by  as  if  all  were  winged  with  sunshine  — 
Thus  the  nights  escaped  all  efforts  to  delay  them,  too  brief  for 
the  enjoyment  which  they  brought.  It  may  be  that  we  shall 
some  days  depict  these  happy  times,  the  "  Humors  of  Glen- 
Eberley,"  even  as  they  were  well  remembered  by  many/  thirty 
years  ago,  in  all  that  cluster  of  parishes  which  lie  between  the 
Ashley  and  the  eastern  margin  of  the  Savannah  ;  but,  at  present, 
we  can  refer  to  them  only.  Enough,  that  peace  reigned  in  the 
household,  under  the  strong  will,  and  the  happy  temperament  of 
its  chief  ;  that  the  dangers  which  threatened  from  without,  were 
all  overcome,  in  consequence  of  the  events  already  recorded  ;  the 
sheriff  had  been  soothed  by  ample  apologies  from  Porgy,  to  which 
Pinckney  easily  persuaded  him  ;  and  Crooks,  the  deputy,  seasonably 
sauced  with  good  words  and  hush-money,  was  easily  persuaded 
to  believe  that  his  digestion  was  totally  unhurt  by  the  unnatural 
sort  of  repast  which  he  had  been  made  to  swallow  by  the  lawless 
partisans.  Tom,  we  may  here  mention,  was  bought  back  from  the 
widow  Eveleigh,  and  received  a  gift  of  himself,  from  Porgy,  which 
he  cunningly  rejected. 

"No!  no!  maussa,"  he  cried,  with  a  sly  shake  of  the  head, 
"I  kain't  t'ink  ob  letting  you  off  dis  way.  Ef  /  doesn't  b'long 
to  you,  you  b'longs  to  me  !  You  hab  for  keep  dis  nigger  long  as 
he  lib  ;  and  him  for  keep  you.  You  hab  for  fin'  he  didner,  and 
Tom  hab  for  cook  'em.  Free  nigger  no  hab  any  body  for  fin' 
'em  he  bittle  [victuals];  and  de  man  wha'  hab  sense  and  good 
maussa,  at  de  same  time,  he's  ad  —  n  pertickilar  great  big  fool, 
for  let  he  maussa  off  from  keep  'cm  and  fin'  'em.  I  no  guine  to 
be  free  no  way  you  kin  fix  it ;  so  maussa,  don't  you  bodder  me 
wid  dis  nonsense  t'ing  'bout  free  paper  any  more.  I's  wrell  off 
whar'  I  is,  I  tell  you ;  and  I  much  rudder  [rather]  b'long  to  good 
maussa,  wha'  I  lub,  dan  be  my  own  maussa  and  quarrel  wid 
rnese'f  ebbery  day.  Da's  it  !  You  yerry  now  ?  I  say  de  wud  for 
all  !  You  b'longs  to  me  Tom,  jes'  as  much  as  me  Tom  b'long 
to  you  ;  and  you  nebber  guine  git  you  free  paper  from  me  long  as 
you  lib." 

Thus  the  matter  was  settled,  and  Tom  continued  to  the  end  of  the 
chapter,  the  cook  and  proprietor  of  his  master. 


510  WOODCKAI  I. 

It   was   probably   time   months  after  his  emancipation    from    the 
bond  of   the  .-herilT.    that    Captain    P»rgy.   <>ne.    morning,    made  his 
appearance    at     breakfast    in    full   dress.       Hi-  toilet    had    been   pre 
pared   with  a   much  nicer  care  than    u.Mial.      His    beard,    which 
shame    t<>    OOOfl  sometimes    allowed     to    grow    wild     ! 

week,    was    now    carefully    pruned    down,    leaving    the    smootheel 
possible    surface    of    chin    and    check.        He    iTOfe     his    hull    small 
clothes,  and    his   new   blue    coat,   \viih    irreal    shining    butt(»ns.       II! 
neck-cloth    was    a    -ky    blue    silk,    which     had     '  ;i    worn. 

Hi-  >ilk  Moekinir-  \\erc  of  the  mo-t  irrepn.achable  tlesh  color, 
and  Poinpey  had  done  hi-  !•  -  t ••  make 

them   emulate,    in  the    irlitteiing    shine    of    the    tine 

patent    leather  of   the   present    day.      The    \\hole   appearance    of  our 
captain   was    <o    fre-h    and    .-o   uniiiue.   that    hi-    pre-ciiee  cau-ed    an 
immediate    .M  n-ati"i).     The    improvement     in     hi-    toilet    struck    all 
parties.       Millhoiise    could    not    forbear    an     exclamation,    and    • 
Oakenbuig   opened   hi-  eye-  a-   he   miuht  have  done  at  the 

new  and  hitherto  unsuspected  -pecie-  of  rattlesnake  or  \ip.r. 
Denni-on  only  smiled,  and  said  .-omethin.^  tnuehin.ir  the  premature 
coming  of  the  sjirin.i:. 

"  We  shall  soon  be  looking  for  the  swallows,  <-a|>tain." 

"()ne  would  think  that  we  had  them  here  alread\."  roplied  tiie 
captain,  ^lanein.i;  oblitjuely  at  the  enorrnou-  bowls  of  collee  which 
Pomp  was  pouring  <»it  at  the  moment.  No  more  wa-  .-aid.  Hut 
when,  after  breakfast,  Pori:\  ordcreil  hi.- hor-e,  the  sergeant  immedi 
ately  became  enlightened  on  the  subject.  The  di.-appearan<<  of  the 
captain  oju'iied  the  fountains  of  his  -peech. 

"I  knowed  it. "quoth  the  "  It'-  t"  happen  at  la-t.      Well, 

its  all  ri.L'ht.  It  mout  ha  l«-en  done,  a  year  a_ro.  and  'twould  ha' 
saved  some  trouble.  But  it's  never  too  late.  I  see  I'll  have  to  open 
new  lands  " 

'•  What's  to  happen?"  demanded  Denni-on. 

"Don't  you  see.      lie'-  ^oiie  a-courtinir." 

"A  courting?  " 

"  Yes!  he'  gone  off  now,  I'm  main  sartin,  to  pop  the  question 
to  the  widow.  Well,  she's  got  a  smart  chaincc  of  niggers,  and 
when  they  gits  hitched  fairly,  my  force  will  be  something  worth 
counting.  I'll  begin  to  c'lar  up  my  gum  land  to-morrow.  I'll 
put  iu  a  hundred  more  acres  thi-  season.  Lord  ;  \\hat  we  tliout 


THE   GRAPES   ARE   SOUR  !  511 

ha'  done  a  year  ago,  ef  the  cappin  hadn't  been  so  mealy- 
mouthed." 

' '  And  you  think  he's  gone  to  be  married !  "  demanded  Oakenburg 
—  "a  wife/' 

"To  be  sure!  What  else!  I  knows  it  —  a  wife  it  is!  and  sich  a 
wife.  She's  got  more  than  a  hundred  niggers,  and  I'll  hev'  to 
manage  'em  all.  But  I'll  tell  you  what  —  she'll  manage  you.  She'll 
not  hev'  you  idle  fellers  about  the  premises.  A  wife  that  has  been 
a  wife  before,  and's  had  the  managing  of  her  own  affairs  so  long, 
she  ain't  gwine  to  hev'  her  house  filled  up  with  warmin,  She'll  hev' 
a  clearing,  I  tell  you  both.  Singing-birds  and  snake-catchers  aint 
gwine  to  eat  her  out  of  house  and  home.  She'll  find  out  what's  the 
wartues  of  work  in  you,  or  she'll  make  you  pack.  Sich  a  broom 
as  she'll  bring  with  her  when  she  comes,  will  sweep  away  all  the 
rubbish." 

The  communication  caused  Oakenburg  to  look  blank.  Den- 
nison,  with  that  rare  disregard  of  to-morrow,  which  is  supposed 
to  mark  the  poetical  nature,  only  laughed,  and  went  off,  hum 
ming  an  old  English  ditty  about  stirring  housewives  and  fairy 
besoms.  Meanwhile,  Porgy  pursued  his  way,  as  the  sergeant 
had  truly  conjectured,  to  the  dwelling  of  the  widow  Eveleigh. 
The  sergeant  had  no  less  truly  divined  his  object  in  the  visit,  For 
some  time  past,  the  captain  had  been  meditating  the  obligations 
which  he  owed  the  widow.  He  reflected  upon  what  Millhouse  had 
repeatedly  suggested  to  him  in  respect  to  the  tender  sort  of 
interest  which  she  was  supposed  to  feel  for  himself.  This  might 
be  a  well-founded  suggestion.  Repeated  examinations  of  the 
matter,  in  his  own  mind,  had  not  persuaded  him  that  the  interest 
of  the  widow  was  anything  more  than  that  of  a  friend. 
Still,  it  was  possible;  and  if  it  were  really  the  case  that  she 
entertained  any  stronger  sentiment  in  his  favor,  it  would  certainly, 
as  the  sergeant  had  said  —  "be  a  most  cruelsome  thing  that 
she  shouldn't  hev'  the  man  she  wanted,  pertickilarly  when  she 
had  done  so  much  for  his  sarcumstances."  Porgy  felt  the  in 
gratitude  of  any  such  neglect,  on  his  part,  supposing  any  such 
feeling  on  hers,  and  gratitude  furnished  a  crutch  where  love 
might  have  faltered  lamely  and  failed  in  his  approaches.  Re 
peated  meditations  had  brought  the  captain  to  a  definite  con 
clusion;  and  he  had  armed  himself  to  "come  to  the  sticking 


512  WOODCRAFT. 

point,"  in   other  words,    to    make    her  a   1'onnul   oll'er, 
heart  and  household. 

Fortunatt  ly  for  his  purpi'M-    lie    found   her  at   home  and  alone. 
Dory    had    --..in-    on  a  visit    to    her   mother —  Arthur   h;ul   set    forth 
on  a  tier r  hunt   with  Fr.impton  and  s  ,mc  other  young  men. 
WBfl    probably    known    1  \\heii    lie    cho.xe    thJ  ;     his 

demonstrations,     lie   found    tlie    widow  a>   kind    and    frank,    ! 
and   agreeable,    as  ever;  and   after  chatting  on   a    variety   of   t. 
he   gradually   brought    the    one    subject    in    ])articular    to  hear.      He 
•.  er\    niee.    ;n:d  M   he   thought,    very   jiidieioii-   in    his  prelim- 
inarics.      He    di  in    the    abstrar!    Bfl  a    beauti- 

ful  and  admirably  -conn  ivd  condition  for  human  beings;  he  di>- 
coined  of  his  own  wa;  •  Of  <  .  he  forbore  any 

allusion   tow):..  '<  ^  SUH|)OMMI  her  wants  al-o.      1  lc  \\  as  j.U-ad- 

in.iT  and  humble  and  ^.licitnu-.  and  rea>(.nable  and  re\  erential.  and 
touching  and  truthful:  —  and,  in  short,  without  throwing  himself 
absolutely  at  her  fa  larcii  himself  so,  and  \\itliout  actually 

takin.i:  her   in  lii-  U1D8,  I  '    anxiety  i».  do  •-<•;-   and 

this,  \ve  are  bound  to  say.  in  the  best  possible  style  with  jiroper 
modexty  and  mi-- ivinir. 

Tin-  widow,  with  a  sweet  smile,  laid  her  hand  upon  his  own,  and 
said  as  renlly  and  tenderly,  but  as  ealmh 

dear  captain,  why  is  it  that  men  and  women  can  not  main 
tain  an  intercour-c.  av  friend-,  without  Becking  any  other  relation. 
Is  it  not  astonishing  that  such  a  tiling  should  serin  impossible  to 
everybody?  Mow.  why  should  not  you  and  1  be  true  friends,  losin.i: 
friends,  trusting  each  other  with  thrutnn.M  c.  -nt'nlcncc.  coinin.i:  and 
^oimr  when  we  pit  a-r  \\  elcomed  \\lnii  v,c  come,  regretted  when 
we  have  to  depart  —  and  never  perilliiiLT  the  intimacy  of  friendship 
by  the  fetters  of  mutrinn  ny.  Can't  it  be  so  with  us,  my 
dear  captain — and  why  not?  I  confess  [  think  —  I  feel  —  that 
we  may  be  very  dear  friends,  captain,  for  all  our  lives;  triad  in 
each  other's  society,  doin^  each  ether  kindly  and  a  fleet  i. 
cilices  —  faithful  always  and  always  confiding,  as  friends,  and  — 
nothing  more." 

The  captain  answered  confusedly.     The  widow  proceeded. 

"The  fact  is,  captain,  if  you  look  at  the  matter  properly,  you 
will  see  that  it  is  quite  impossible  that  we  should  marry.  AVe 
bhould  risk  much  and  gain  little  by  such  a  tie.  I  confess  to  you 


THE    GRAPES   ARE    SOUR  !  513 

that  were  I  again  to  marry,  I  know  no  person  to  whom  I  should 
be  more  willing  to  trust  my  happiness  than  yourself." 

The  captain  squeezed  her  hand. 

"But,  captain,  I  am  willing  to  trust  myself  to  nobody  again. 
I  have  been  too  long  my  own  mistress  to  submit  to  authority. 
I  have  a  certain  spice  of  independence  in  my  temper,  which 
would  argue  no  security  for  the  rule  which  seeks  to  restrain  me  ; 
and  you,  if  I  am  any  judge  of  men,  have  a  certain  imperative 
mood  which  would  make  you  very  despotic,  should  you  meet 
with  resistance.  There  would  be  peace  and  friendship  between 
us,  my  dear  captain  —  nay  love  —  so  long  as  we  maintain  our 
separate  independence  ;  and,  in  this  faith,  I  am  unwilling  to  risk 
anything  by  any  change  in  our  relations.  Let  there  be  peace, 
and  friendship,  and  love  between  us, —  but  never  a  word  more 
of  marriage.  There  is  my  hand,  captain,  in  pledge  of  my  good 
faith,  my  friendship,  my  affectionate  interest  in  yourself  and 
fortunes  —  my  pleasure  in  your  society  —  and  you  must  be  content 
with  that.  Will  you,  captain  ?  For  my  sake,  let  me  entreat,  and 
please  say  no  more  of  other  matters." 

Porgy  took   her  hand   and   carried   it  to  his  lips. 

•'God  bless  you,  my  dear  widow,  and  believe  me  grateful  for 
what  you  are  willing  to  bestow.  I  must  be  content  —  will  be  — 
assured  of  such  a  friendship  as  your  heart  is  capable  of.  You 
are  right,  perhaps,  and  yet — ' 

"  No  doubt  I  am  right.  We  know  each  other,  and  there  shall 
be  no  -misunderstanding  between  us.  You  must  stay  to  dinner 
with  me  today,  that  I  may  be  sure  you  feel  no  impatience  with 
me." 

And  he  stayed. 


But  the  idea  of  marriage  had,  for  the  time,  taken  particular 
possession  of  the  brain  of  our  captain.  Three  days  after,  he 
rode  over  to  see  the  widow  Griffin  ;  but  on  this  occasion,  he  did 
not  take  the  same  pains  with  his  costume  as  when  he  visited  the 
other  widow.  His  dress  was  less  pretending,  and  more  somber 
of  hue.  The  captain  knew,  before  he  started  that  the  widow 
was  alone.  Lance  Frampton  had  /gone  on  a  visit  with  his  wife 
to  Dorchester,  the  scene  of  some' ''his  own  exploits  during  the 

22* 


514  WOODCIIAIT 

war,  and  where  In-  had  some  relatives.  Porgy  found  tho  widow 
in  good  health  and  trim,  and  especially  in  good  spirits.  Her 
welcome  was  ai\\a\s  genial,  and  she  looked  particularly  charm 
ing,  though  in  ordinary  household  gear.  Sin-  was  at  her  spin- 
ning-wlicel  \\hen  lie  came.  A  basket  of  carded  cotton  .stood 
beside  her,  and  M  dw  drew  oil  the  threads  from  tlie  wheel,  ap 
proached  it  and  retired,  he  thought  her  as  graceful  ifl  a  \oung 
dam-el  of  sixieen.  For  the  liM  time  in  his  life,  he  fancied  that 
spinning  was  a  particularly  picturesque  performance,  and  won 
deivd  that  he  had  not  seen  it  more  frequently  delineated  in 
picture-. 

.Mrs.  (iriflin  was  very  lively -and  good  humored,  and  the  cap 
tain  gradually  became  more  and  more  gallant.  After  awhile,  he 
olliciated  someuhat  in  her  operations.  Now,  he  drew  the  basket 
of  cotton  to  her  side.  Anon.  \\lien  she  doired  to  move  the  wheel. 
be  caught  up  one  end  of  it,  while  she  took  the  other.  It 
thus  borne  into  the  pia//a.  llie  better  to  all'nrd  room  for  her  pi<> 
ceedin-s.  In  the  obsCUVB  situation  of  tlie  cottage,  ofT  the  public 
road,  and  surrounded  by  great  shad  08,  the  pia/./a  was 

ely   lea    private   than    the  hall.        The   feeling   of  privacy   had 
it-    elTeet   on    I1  Boon,    lie   became  more  frequent  in  the  little 

helps  lie  gave  tlie  widow,  and.  at  length,  when  putting  aside  her 
spinning,  she  proceeded  to  reel  of]'  a  pile  of  yarn,  the  captain 
forced  away  the  reel,  and  gallantly  thrust  his  own  arms  through 
the  hanks.  It  was  in  \ain  that  the  good,  simple  (Jritliii.  wonder 
ing  in  discomfiture  at  this  self  humiliation  on  the  part  of  the 
captain,  strove  airain-t  it.  He  gave  her  a  tierce  smack  upon  the 
lips  with  his  own,  and  thus  put  an  end  to  all  her  elTorls  to  re- 
-  herself  of  the  thiead. 

Then  he  placed  himself  before  her  in  a  great  chair,  his  arms 
extended  to  the  uttermost,  hi-  eyet  surveying  her  tenderly,  while 
she.  with  downcast  looks,  proceeded,  as  the  sultan  ruled,  to  ivi.l 
off  the  threads  as  well  as  she  might  from  the  digits  of  her  awk 
ward  auxiliary.  The  picture  was  a  sufficiently  ludicrous  one, 
but  it  may  be  better  fancied  than  described.  (Jriflin  might  have 
seen  —  probably  did  see, —  the  grotesque  absurdity  of  the  scene; 
but  Porgy  was  in  his  Arcadian  mood,  and  certain  feelings  which 
he  had  in  reserve,  made  him  obtuse  in  respect  to  the  queer  figure 
which  he  cut  in  this  novel  employment. 


THE    GHAPES   ARE   SOUR  !  515 

He  was  startled  into  a  full  consciousness  of  his  ridiculous 
situation,  by  the  sudden  appearance,  in  front  of  the  house,  on 
horseback,  of  the  widow  Eveleigh  and  her  son  Arthur.  In  the 
chat  which  the  captain  had  kept  up,  tender  and  sentimental,  and 
perhaps  a  little  saucy,  neither  Griffin  nor  himself  had  heard  the 
sound  of  the  horses,  until  escape  was  impossible.  The  parties 
Were  fairly  caught.  The  first  thought  of  the  captain,  when  he 
looked  up  at  the  sudden  noise  and  saw  who  were  the  visitors, 
was  to  fling  the  yarn  over  Griffin's  head  ;  at  all  events  to  fling'it 
from  his  arms  ;  but  the  mischievous  threads  adhered  tenaciously 
to  the  broadcloth,  and  caught  upon  the  buttons  at  his  wrist,  and 
tangled  itself  about  his  fingers,  as  if  each  thread  were  a  spirit 
of  disorder,  sent  especially  for  his  discomfort  and  defeat.  When 
he  sought  to  rise  it  fell  in  a  mass  upon  his  feet,  and  when  he 
strove  to  kick  it  off,  the  feet  got  involved  within  the  meshes,  so 
that  he  dared  not  take  a  step  forward  lest  he  should  lay  himself 
out,  at  full  length,  along  the  piazza.  As  for  the  yarn,  before  he 
got  out  of  its  meshes,  it  was  one  inextricable  mass  of  disorder,  which 
filled  the  eyes  of  Griffin  with  consternation  to  behold. 

The  pair  were  really  in  most  pitiable  plight  ;  an  awkward  con 
sciousness  of  the  ludicrousness  of  the  picture  they  afforded  to  the 
new-comers,  striking  them  both  irresistibly  for  the  first  time. 
But  Porgy's  consciousness  was  particularly  vexing  upon  other 
grounds.  To  be  seen  in  such  a  relation  to  the  one  widow,  after 
seeking  such  a  relation  with  the  other  !  As  the  poor  captain 
meditated  upon  the  matter,  which  he  did  in  a  single  instant  of 
time,  his  face  streamed  with  perspiration,  though  the  month  of 
March,  when  the  event  happened,  is  considered  a  tolerably  cool  one, 
even  in  a  Carolina  climate. 

Porgy  hardly  dared  encounter  the  eye  of  the  widow  Eveleigh, 
who  had  alighted  with  her  son,  and  now  entered.  But  he  strove 
to  pluck  up  courage,  and,  in  seeking  to  appear  lively,  he  simply 
showed  himself  nervous.  When  he  did  catch  the  eyes  of  the 
widow,  he  saw  them  filled  with  a  significantly  smiling  speech, 
which  added  to  his  confusion.  She  gave  him  her  hand,  however, 
very  frankly  observing,  as  she  did  so  — 

"  What,  in  our  times,  Hercules  subdued  to  the  distaff  !  " 

"  Ah  !  my  dear  widow,  it  is  only  woman  that  finds  the  hero  weak. 
That  you  should  have  seen  me  at  this  folly  !  " 


516  WOODCRA  IT. 

This  was  said  in  something  of  a  whisper. 

"Do  not  count  it  folly,"  answered  the  widow.  "It  is  through 
the  weakness  of  the  man  that  we  know  his  proper  strength. 
That  one  is  able  to  forget  his  dignities,  only  shows  that  his  heart 
has  not  been  forgotten.  Hut,  truth  to  speak,  my  dear  captain,  the 
picture  was  an  amusing  one. " 

"Funny  !  very  !  It  must  have  been."  This  was  said  with  a 
ludicrous  attempt  to  smile,  whieh  resulted  in  a  grin.  Porgy's  plan  of 
courtship  was  exploded  for  that  <lay,  and  for  a  goodly  week  after 
ward.  But  the  purpose  was  not  abandoned. 


It  was  about  ten  days  after,  when  the  captain  took  occasion  to 
revisit  the  widow  (Jriflin.  Frampton  and  liK  wife  were  still  ab 
sent.  Mill  house  Arthur  Kveleigh,  and  George  Denni-nn,  \\en- 
off  on  a  deer  hunt  somewhere  down  the  river  ;  and  I'.ngy  having 
smoked  his  after  dinner  pipe,  and  feeling  dull,  if  not  drmv-y,  hav 
ing  dined  alone,  resolved  brielly  the  desolateucss  of  his  state, 
and,  under  a  sudden  call  to  change  it.  ordered  his  horse,  deter 
mined  to  woo  the  widow  Grillin  after  the  most  lion  like  fashion. 
To  confess  another  of  our  captain's  weaknesses,  he  had  but  little 
doubt  of  success  in  his  present  quest.  Grillin  had  been  so  docile, 
80  gentle,  so  solicitous  (lf  hi-  ease  and  comfort,  that  he  really 
persuaded  himself  he  had  but  to  >,.,•!<  \,>  M-eure.  And  so  he 
rode. 

A  pretty  smart  canter  soon  brought  him  to  her  door,  where 
the  spectacle  that  confounded  him  was  even  more  a>toni>bing  to 
his  sight,  than  the  situation  could  have  been  to  the  widow  i 
leigh,  when  she  caught  himself.  lie  could  scam:  believe  his 
eyes.  There,  in  the  piaz/a,  stood  the  fair  Griffin,  clasped  close 
in  the  arms  of  the  overseer,  Fordham,  and  that  audacious  per 
sonage  was  actually  engaged  in  tasting  of  her  lips,  as  a  sort  of 
dessert  after  dinner.  The  situation  was  as  apparent  as  the  noonday 
sun.  The  facts  were  beyond  all  question  or  denial.  The  parties 
were  fairly  caught,  and  so  conscious  was  the  wicked  widow  of 
the  sinfulness  of  suffering  herself  to  be  caught,  that,  not  able  to 
f»ce  the  "  ."""  "ve  broke  away  from  the  arms  of  Fordham,  and 


THE   GKAPES  ARE  SOUR  !  517 

rushed  headlong  into  the  house.  Porgy  was  swallowed  up  in 
astonishment.  He  was  about  to  wheel  his  horse  around,  and  ride 
off ,  at  greater  speed  than  that  which  brought  him,  when  Fordham 
sallied  out,  and  asked  him  to  alight,  and  with  the  coolest  manner  in 
the  world  said  — 

"Well,  cappin,  you've  caught  us  at  it;  but  no  harm  done,  I 
hope.  The  widow  and  me  hev'  struck  hands  on  a  bargain,  and  I 
reckon  we'll  be  mighty  soon  man  and  wife ;  and  I  hope,  cappin, 
to  see  you  at  the  wedding." 

"Thed  —  1  you  do!"  was  the  only  response  of  the  captain,  as, 
looking  fiercely  indignant  at  such  cold-blooded  audacity,  he 
wheeled  his  horse,  clapped  spurs  to  his  sides,  and  sent  him  home 
ward  at  full  gallop. 

"Mighty  strange!"  quoth  Fordham.  "The  cappin  doesn't 
seem  to  like  it ! " 

Simple-minded  Fordham,  to  suppose  that  a  man  should  like  to 
see  his  neighbor  feeding  on  the  very  fruit  he  had  thought  to 
gather  for  himself. 


With  the  defeat  of  these  attempts,  Captain  Porgy  gave  up  all 
notion  of  marriage. 

"Woman!"  quoth  he,  "woman!"  and  there  his  soliloquy 
ended ;  but  the  one  word,  repeated,  was  full  of  significance. 
When  at  length  his  comrades  were  again  assembled  about  the 
board,  and  the  cheerful  fires  were  blazing  on  the  hearth,  and  the 
philosophic  cloud  wreaths  floated  about  the  apartment,  and  the 
tankards  were  filled  with  potent  floods  of  sunny  liquor,  Porgy 
said  suddenly  to  his  companions  — 

"My  good  fellows,  there  have  been  moments  when  I  thought 
of  deserting  you, —  that  is,  I  sometimes  meditated  bringing  in 
upon  you  a  fearful  influence,  which  might  have  lessened  your 
happiness,  and  destroyed  the  harmony  which  prevails  among  us. 
I  have  had  various  notions  of  taking  a  wife  — " 

"A  wife!"  cried  Dennison.  "Oh!  hush,  captain,  and  don't 
frighten  a  body  so !  A  wif§  !  What  madness  prompted  such  a 
thought  ?  " 


518  WOOI»«   KA1T. 

"A  wife!"  cried  Oakenburir,  —  "  the  Lord  deliver  n 
"Ef  she'd  ha'  come,   she'd    ha'    delivered  you   mighty  soon," 
quoth  Millhouse ;  "I  don't  see  what's  to  skear  a  body  in  a  wife, 

pervided   she's   in   proper   sarcumstatices,    and   is    kept    strict    by    a 
man  usen  to  army  riirilations." 

"Maussa  better  widout  'em,"   quoth  Torn;  "I    nebber  kin   'tan 
for  be  happy  in  house  whar  woman's  mssa." 

"Well,  you  will   all   In-   pleased   to   hear,    then,   that  I  Lave 
terniined  to  live  a    bachelor   for  your  sak<-v      I   saeritiee  my   happi- 
Q6H    for   your  own.      I    renounce    the    temptations  of    the  tlc-h.      It 
has  been  a  pani:  to  me,  irentlemen.  to  d<>  s.».   for   beauty   is   pn  • 
in    my    slight.     There    are    women    \\h«»m    I   could   love.      The!' 
charms    which    persuade    my    v«r  -in.      There   an-    N 

which   make   my   mouth    water.     But.    for   your    MkftS,    I    n  nounce 
them    all.      I    shall    live    for    you     only.       V-M    could    not    well    do 
without    me;    I   will    not    suflVr   myself   to   do    without    you.      ^  ou 
shall    be    mine    always  — I    shall    be    \»\\r<.     To    woman.    e\c« •; 
friend   or  companion,    1    say    depart!     I    renoui;  \\-id,    ye 

sweet    tempters   to  mortal     we.-ikne^      ye    b.-LMiile    me     uith    your 
charms    no    more!     For    yoi.  mittdes,    iln-re   shall 

be  no  mistress,  while  I  live,  at  (Ileii-Kberh-y." 

And  may  you  live    for  ever:"   was   the   crv    from   all   but    Mill- 
house.     He  only  muttered  in  the  ears  of  IVnni-on 

I   sees   it    all  !     lie    ill-owns    the   women    bekaise    he    kaint    help 
himself.     The  grapes  is  sour !  " 


UN: 


THE   EJfD. 


13/5318 


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